Forgotten
by ChemiToo
Summary: Ib has found herself drawn to a certain painting hanging in the art gallery for years now. Surely there's a reason for it. She and her friends soon discover that there is something much more sinister to Guertena's mysterious artwork than meets the eye. Some language.
1. Chapter 1

Ib stared at the painting for what felt like the millionth time. She wasn't sure what kept drawing her back here, to Guertena's "Forgotten Portrait," but she felt compelled to stand in front of it, almost on a daily basis now. She sighed, looking up at the man slumped against the wall as if asleep. This had been going on for five years now; it was ridiculous. She glanced down at her watch—3:56pm.

"_It's just a painting,"_ she told herself adamantly, though found herself unable to turn away. She felt as if she _knew_ the man in the portrait somehow. She mentally smacked herself. It was absurd—namely why she hadn't told her parents about her outings to see the painting after school as of late. She had told them she was studying at a friend's house. Ib frowned; she felt horrible lying to her parents, but she just couldn't tell them the truth. They'd think she was insane.

But she wasn't…right?

Ignoring the gallery's DO NOT TOUCH THE DISPLAYS sign on the far wall, she reached out and ran her fingertips along the man's face, obscured by long bangs hanging into his eyes.

"Who are you?" the murmured, praying nobody else was behind her to hear her _talking_ to a painting.

She looked up as the lights suddenly flickered. She froze, stomach lurching.

"Hello?" she called, turning around and finding the gallery empty.

She swallowed hard, trying to stave off the panic welling in her chest. This felt familiar somehow, and not in a good way.

"Hello?!" she shouted, breaking out into a run and dashing through the corridors of the gallery. To her horror, the place was deserted. She careened to a halt in front of a massive canvas to catch her breath, hunching over and putting her hands on her knees.

"What the hell is going on?" she whispered to herself, glancing up at the painting. "Fabricated World," it said. That feeling in the pit of her stomach returned, that hint of déjà vu that both fascinated and frightened her.

She paused, looking at the lower left-hand corner of the painting curiously. What looked like blue paint was leaking out of the frame, spilling onto the wall in a slow stream.

"What-?"

BANG. BANG BANG BANG BANG

Ib gasped and flung her hands over her head as a series of thuds filled the eerie silence. She froze like that for a few moments after the noises stopped, then slowly brought herself back to a standing position. Something red on the floor caught her attention; she felt her eyes go wide. Letters were sprawled out on the floor. A message.

"YOU CAME BACK"

Ib froze again, backing away from the letters in terror. _"Came back?"_ What was that supposed to mean? She had been in the gallery hundreds of times over the years and never had messages falling from the ceiling before. Gathering her courage, Ib slowly backed out of the room and into the corridor.

She gasped again as she looked down at the floor. What looked like blue footprints dotted the white tiles, leading around the corner into another part of the gallery. She paused, wondering what the wisest move was. Surely this was a trap. It certainly looked like one, the way the footprints purposely led her away.

On the other hand, she realized with a sinking feeling, what choice did she have?

She quietly followed the footprints, turning around frequently to make sure she wasn't being followed, and came to an abrupt stop in front of a blue painting in the floor of the gallery. "Abyss of the Deep," unless she was mistaken. More red letters dotted the floor just as the footprints ended; they were jumbled, so it took her a few moments to piece the words together.

"COME INSIDE"

"Wonderful," she mumbled, looking back once more at the empty gallery before stepping into the painting.

She emerged on the other side in a red corridor. It was dimly lit, making it difficult to see the other end. She turned around, taking in her surroundings. She shivered; it was cold.

"Hello?" she ventured, noting something red and teal-colored down the hallway. She slowly headed toward it, calling out "hello?" once more for good measure. Still no answer.

She approached the object, cocking her head to the side as she examined it. A perfectly shaped, bright red rose was sitting in the teal vase half-filled with water. It was beautiful—almost too beautiful to be real. The urge to pick it up was irresistible; she reached out and carefully grabbed the rose—minding the thorns—and took a whiff. To her surprise, there was no scent. She sniffed it again; still nothing.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

Ib whirled around as the thudding noises from before erupted from behind. Like earlier, letters lay strewn upon the floor in a jumbled mess. She licked her lips, frowning as she tried to piece them into words.

"I SAVED IT FOR YOU"

She swallowed, looking up at the ceiling where the letters had descended from. Nothing looked out of the ordinary; just simple red tiles lined the entire ceiling for as far as she could see.

She squinted as something materialized down the hallway. She immediately headed towards it, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. She knew that painting anywhere.

She was almost out of breath by the time she got to the "Forgotten Portrait," though not just from running. The feeling that she knew the boy in the frame intensified, almost to the point where it hurt. He was in trouble; she knew it. Her breath caught in her throat as she examined the painting more closely.

The boy's chest was moving, rising and falling as if asleep.

"Hello?" she called into the portrait, stepping forward. The boy didn't answer, merely kept sleeping away.

"Hey, wake up!" she demanded as something large and dark emerged from the right-hand side of the portrait. Ib recoiled, stumbling backward in horror as the thing shuffled in front of the sleeping boy. The black mass hid him from view.

Ib watched, frozen, as whatever it was slowly turned around to face her. All she could make out amid the dark shape were a pair of eyes. Large, perfectly round red ones that surveyed her with a hatred Ib couldn't begin to describe.

She yelped as the banging sound occurred again, spinning around to see the message waiting for her.

"HE'S MINE"

Ib scowled, a rage suddenly bubbling up inside of her.

"Let him GO!" she screamed to nobody in particular, shaking her fists.

Silence. Until—

BANG BANG. BANG. BANG BANG BANG

"COME GET HIM"

Ib inhaled deeply, trying to keep her anger and her panic in-check. It was taunting her, whatever this thing was.

"Fine," she said softly, looking up at the ceiling. After a few moments of tense silence she heard a click. She looked around; a door had materialized on her left. Steeling herself, she grabbed the knob and pulled it open.


	2. Chapter 2

She found herself in another corridor, lined on both sides with various paintings she vaguely recognized from the gallery. She walked past them slowly, eyeing each one suspiciously as she went. She was only a little surprised when the eyes on some of the portraits would follow her, or when one actually coughed as she passed by. She frowned; this place was starting to get to her.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had traveled down this hallway before. A pang of fear struck her suddenly as she passed a portrait of a woman. She stopped in her tracks, staring intently into the woman's eyes. She was quite pretty, Ib noted, with long chestnut brown hair and an elegant red dress. She looked back at Ib, smiling gently.

Ib licked her lips in thought. Yes, she had definitely seen her before. In the gallery, maybe? No, it was more than that. She swallowed; another wave of terror washed over her as she stared into the woman's eyes. There was something sinister to them, somehow.

She felt her heart leap into her mouth as the woman blinked. A terrible grin crept across her face, contorting its pleasantness into an expression of pure malice.

Ib looked on in terror as the woman raised her arms and pounded on the glass of her frame. A sinister growl erupted from the portrait as she continually hit the glass. To Ib's horror, it cracked.

"_Run!"_ she told herself, but it was no use. Her feet simply wouldn't cooperate, as if they had been glued to the floor. She couldn't tear herself from the woman's gaze. Mesmerized, she could only stare as another crack shattered the silence.

"_She's coming through!" _her mind screamed, but her body still wasn't listening. She wanted to cry, but that wasn't happening either. The woman's growling filled the corridor as a shard of shattering glass grazed Ib's cheek. The impact was enough to tear her from her trance as the lady in red burst out of the frame and began crawling down the corridor after her. Ib ran blindly, rushing up to a red door and tugging at the knob.

To her horror, it wouldn't open.

"No!" Ib cried as the woman lunged at her. Ib doubled back, dashing down the corridor to where the woman's portrait had flung itself off the wall. Something shiny on the floor caught her attention.

"_The key. You need the key," _she told herself. She stopped dead, pivoting clumsily and grabbing the red key off of the carpet. She dashed back down the corridor, toward the door. The lady in red was crawling toward her, growling and gnashing her teeth as she dragged her frame along the carpet. Ib sprinted past her and placed the key in the keyhole of the door.

She swore as it tumbled out of her shaky grasp and onto the floor.

"Come on come on come on-!" she coached herself as the sound of the woman's fists pounding the floor and growling intensified.

"_She's right behind me,"_ she thought to herself vaguely as she shoved the key back into the lock. To her relief, a sharp clicking noise caught her ear. She threw herself through it, slamming her back against the door once she was safely on the other side.

The lady in red howled at her from the corridor, pounding her fists on the door furiously as Ib clicked the lock shut. She dashed across the new room, empty save for a picture of an eyeball leering at her, and threw herself through an adjacent door. She slammed it shut, sliding down it and trying not to hyperventilate.

She had seen that woman before—been chased by her, too. Ib ran her shaky hands through her hair and leaned her head against the door. The most frightening detail for her was the key. How had she _known_ that she needed the key? Or that the woman in the portrait had it?

She exhaled loudly, looking around at the new room she had entered. Another corridor, though this was divided into sections by a series of thin walls.

"_It's a maze, remember?"_ she asked herself.

Ib froze, staring wide-eyed at the room in front of her.

Where was this stuff coming from?

She cautiously proceeded down one of the narrow hallways, the one on the far right.

"_There's a trick to solving mazes... Hug the right hand side and you'll reach the end eventually__," _her mind said to her. Ib swallowed, her heart racing as she came to a halt.

" 'You came back,' " she whispered to herself, recalling the message on the floor from earlier. She looked down at the rose in her hand, turning it over carefully. It was important, somehow…

Reluctantly, she tore a shred of one of the rose's petals away.

She hissed, clapping a hand to her forearm. Slowly, she took her hand away; a nasty red welt was forming around a freshly made scratch.. Ib's jaw hit the floor as she realized—the wound on her arm was the same shape as the tear on the rose petal.

"This rose…" she said aloud, staring down at the damaged rose in awe.

"_Know the weight of your own life,"_

"…what?" she blurted.

"You're back!" a cheery female voice shouted from right next to her. Ib nearly leapt out of her skin as she spun around. A young girl in a green dress was standing beside her, smiling broadly and laughing. She couldn't have been more than eight or nine. She would have looked a regular child, save for the black line crisscrossing her face at sharp angles; it looked as if strips of paper had been pieced together. Each time she moved, a flake or two of what looked like paper-Mache crumbled away, dotting the red carpet quietly.

"And…you grew up!" the girl elaborated after giving Ib a once-over, grinning lopsidedly through the jagged pieces of her face.

"Who…who are you?" Ib managed, flabbergasted. Her head hurt.

The girl looked rather offended at being forgotten. Her face contorted into an asymmetrical pout as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Don't play dumb, Ib," she teased, though it sounded to Ib like more of a warning than anything else. Something in her deep sapphire eyes made Ib uneasy.

"Whoa!" the girl exclaimed as Ib's knees gave out, "What're you doing, Ib? You okay?" she added as she took a few steps toward her.

"S-stay back," Ib ordered weakly, holding her arm out for emphasis. Her mind was reeling; something was wrong. Something about this _girl_ was wrong.

The girl was silent for a moment before releasing a heavy sigh.

"You know, Ib, I liked you," she said quietly. Blood started pounding in Ib's ears as her anxiety intensified.

She knew that voice. That tone.

"I still do, a little," the girl admitted as Ib clambered to her feet, using the wall for support.

"Which, is why…" the girl said in a singsong voice as she twirled, the ruffles of her green dress flowing out around her gracefully, despite chunks of it flaking off and falling onto the rug, "I convinced him to let you come back in. Gave you another _chance_," she added, spitting out the last word like a curse.

Ib bit her lip. She remembered.

"Mary," she whispered as the fear welled up in her chest. Mary looked surprised, her bright blue eyes blinking at her a few times before bursting out into a giggle fit. It sounded more like the sound of paper crinkling than an actual laugh.

"Oh, _you_!" she laughed, "You were just teasing me! I knew you'd never forget your best friend,"

"My best…friend…?" Ib repeated hesitantly. Based on the panic she was feeling, Mary was NOT a friend.

"Well of course," Mary insisted with a grin, "That's why you came back for me!"

"Right…" Ib trailed off, her mind racing as Mary continued to babble. Images flickered across her mind's eye in a jumbled mix of memories. A lighter. A yellow piece of candy. Mary, laughing as she tore the petals off of a blue rose-

Blue rose…

Ib swallowed, backing away from Mary and groping the wall behind her for an exit. Instead, a hand emerged, tearing at her blouse. Ib scrambled away with a strangled yelp, smoothing out her shirt to the best of her ability. She was fairly certain it was torn in the back.

"Where are you going, Ib?" Mary demanded, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at her, "You're not planning on leaving me again, are you?"

Ib responded by breaking into an all-out sprint, stumbling her way through the maze and finding a door. She threw it open and slammed into it on the other side, holding it closed. Mary was right behind her, pounding on the door insistently.

"IB!" she shouted, "OPEN THIS DOOR!"

Ib looked to her left; a bookshelf was facing her. If she could topple it, she could use it to barricade the door.

"IIIIIIIIIIIB!" Mary shrieked, causing Ib to wince, "LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LETMEIN LETMEIN LETMEIN!" Ib kept herself pressed against the door as it buckled under the weight of Mary throwing herself into it. She had to hold on, just a little longer, until Mary gave up.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mary emitted one final shriek of frustration, kicked the door (or at least Ib thought she had) and stormed off. Ib waited a solid two minutes before moving. Slowly, she got to her feet and made a beeline for the bookcase. She shoved it forward, noting with disappointment how it was lighter than she'd anticipated, and placed it in front of the door.

She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes. More fragments of broken memories flickered across her eyelids.

Mary, screaming as Ib burnt the broken portrait. A yellow rose. A palette knife—

Her eyes popped open as she remembered. Mary had tried to kill her. She was angry because she had gone into her room, the one with the portrait…_her_ portrait.

"Mary…was a painting?" she asked aloud, looking around the dimly lit room. It was empty, save for more bookshelves and a table with a vase of water. Ib stepped forward, frowning thoughtfully. She had been here before, with someone else.

"_Good morning, Ib! How are you feeling?"_

"_Let's rest here a while longer before we set out again,"_

That voice…who was talking to her?

"_U__nderstood__. __Please, __give me Ib's __rose__ in __exchange__ for mine,"_

The blue rose. _His_ blue rose.

"The boy from the painting," Ib said aloud, her heart sinking. He had given Mary his rose in order to save hers.

"_If you need me, I'll come running,"_

There had been blue rose petals strewn all over the hallway. Blue petals.

Garry's petals.

"Garry," Ib whispered, both horrified and elated at the same time. She had regained her lost memories, but Garry was still trapped here.

Alive.

With Mary.

She looked up, drawing a deep breath and trying to analyze the situation. Mary was…dead. At least, Ib had thought so. She had burnt Mary's portrait herself to prevent her from taking Garry's place in the "real world."

"_So…how to stop her?"_ she asked herself, pacing around the room and rubbing her arm still hurt from where she had torn her rose earlier.

Her rose…

Ib looked down at the blossom thoughtfully, examining it as she spun the stem. The rose represented her life, just like the blue one had represented Garry's—

But that meant Garry...

She bit her lip, looking up at the ceiling and trying to compose herself. So Garry was dead.

But he wasn't—she had seen him breathing in that painting. Besides, Mary was supposed to be dead too, right?

Ib gasped as a series of loud banging sounds pierced the silence. They were coming from outside, and she was fairly sure they couldn't have been made by Mary. Reluctantly, she moved the bookcase aside and stepped into the hallway.

The place was a mess.

Broken mannequin heads dripping with a red substance that looked disturbingly like blood were strewn about the corridor. There were marks all along the walls—which could have been made by a palette knife, Ib noted with unease—leading down the corridor and around the corner. She paused as she noted the letters strewn across the floor:

"FIND ME"

Ib walked cautiously through the maze, passing a headless statue of a woman in a yellow dress in the process. She ducked around the corner in time to dodge the statue's arm and broke into a run through the maze.

She cried out as the floor suddenly gave way, and she fell into blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Ib moaned as she picked herself up off of the floor. Wherever she was, it was dark. She squinted as her eyes adjusted. Yet another corridor came into view. She frowned, looking behind her suspiciously. Wherever this place was, she wasn't alone.

She took a step forward, then realized with a jolt that something was missing.

"Looking for this?" a man's voice called from down the corridor. In the dim light, she could barely make out the piercing red of her rose. Her heart leapt into her mouth.

"Give that back," she demanded, moving down the hallway toward the source of the voice. To her dismay, he merely chuckled.

"Give it _back_?" he asked incredulously as Ib broke into a run. The rose appeared to get farther away with each step she took, fading into the blackness to where she could barely make it out.

"Why would I give you something which is mine?" the man asked, sounding thoroughly amused. Ib's breathing was labored now as she frantically tried to catch up to her rose. Just when she thought for certain her legs would give out on her, a figure emerged from the shadows.

A tall man stepped forward, twirling her rose between his slender fingers. He looked about middle-aged, with unruly dark hair and disturbingly piercing blue eyes. Ib stopped dead as the man began to walk toward her, a smirk creeping over his face.

"This is _my_ world, after all," he mused as he came ever closer, "And what I say goes,"

"Who are you?" Ib demanded, mustering her courage and clenching her fists to keep them from shaking so much.

The man appeared floored, stopping in his tracks and surveying her with disdain.

"Who am I?" he hissed quietly. Something dangerous lurked beneath his smooth tone. "Who am _I?!_" he cried, plucking a petal off of Ib's rose. Ib cried out in pain and clutched a hand to her chest; it was as if she'd been stabbed.

"I _created_ this place!" the man shouted furiously, "I have created a UNIVERSE!" he continued, his voice echoing off of the walls of the narrow corridor.

"That's…impossible," Ib blurted between shallow breaths. The satisfied smirk returned to the man's face as he resumed his stroll down the hallway toward her.

"Nothing is impossible for a genius, my dear," he said, "As you should know. You've seen my work before, on a more…in-depth level, shall we say?"

Ib just glared at him as the man stopped roughly six feet in front of her. He cocked his head, looking down at her and grinning.

"You must have been thoroughly impressed, to come back here like you did," he mused.

Ib opened her mouth, but the man cut her off.

"Let me guess: you're wondering how your companions from before are still…alive?" he asked curtly, smiling. Ib closed her jaw with a soft click. The man chuckled, pocketing her rose in his suit jacket and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"I know you went to great lengths to destroy what you thought was my final piece," he said with an air of amusement, "It took me a long time to paint Mary, you know," he added flatly, throwing a glare her way. Ib glared back defiantly.

"At any rate, I couldn't just let such a piece of…art!...fall into ruin. I re-created her, to the best of my ability in this place, and continued with my work," he explained.

"…continued?" Ib blurted, glancing down at the rose in his pocket longingly. He caught the gesture and grinned at her wickedly.

"Why of course, my dear," he said smoothly, "A great artist such as Weiss Guertena cannot simply rest in peace. My work was my life, you see," he continued, waving a hand at her nonchalantly. "One cannot simply 'stop' art. Not when one pours his own soul into his work to ensure that he lives on,"

He paused, waiting for Ib to respond.

"You…painted yourself?" Ib speculated, and Guertena clapped his hands together in delight.

"Precisely, my dear, precisely!" he praised, "A true connoisseur of my work, you are. You're going to _love_ my latest piece," he added maliciously. Ib's stomach jolted unpleasantly.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded coldly, trying her damndest not to let her voice crack out of fear.

Guertena nodded at her, then pivoted on his heel and took off down the hallway at a good clip.

"Come with me, my dear, and you'll see," he called, waving at her. Ib took off after him, keeping an eye on the rose in his pocket.

She felt her jaw fall open as Guertena led her into a candlelit room. The walls were a deep blue, and the room was lined in roses.

Blue and red ones.

Something was lying on a pedestal at the other end of the small space, motionless.

"Garry!" she cried, dashing past Guertena and falling to her knees beside the unconscious young man. He was just as she remembered; tall, pale, with untidy lavender-colored hair. She cradled his head in her hands, noting with a jolt how cold he felt.

She turned toward Guertena as he laughed.

"Ah, I'm glad to see your enthusiasm for my newest piece," he said with a crooked grin. When Ib just glared at him in response, he sighed. "He's still alive, don't you worry," he added, though he sounded less than amused with her reaction. To Ib's horror, Guertena reached into his pants pocket, obscured by his suit jacket, and produced a withered blue rose. It had only a single petal.

"You see?" he insisted, placing the rose back in his pocket and patting his coat, "He lives. I wouldn't be able to work with a subject that had no soul," he said matter-of-factly, "And that, my dear, is where _you _come in," he added darkly.

Ib's mouth went dry and she clutched onto Garry more tightly.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Well, I can't finish this piece without its counterpart," he said mysteriously, pacing around the room and twirling her rose in his fingertips.

Ib didn't answer, which made Guertena sigh huffily.

"Honestly, I'd hoped you of all people would understand," he said with a frown, "Surely you're familiar with the language of flowers,"

"No," Ib answered after a brief pause. Guertena shook his head, then went back to pacing and twirling her rose.

"With flowers, all colors hold a different meaning," he explained, looking at her expectantly. Ib just glared at him. Guertena sighed, then continued with his explanation, "The blue rose, for example, symbolizes 'love at first sight' and 'gaining the unattainable.' Isn't that a stunning subject for a portrait?"

Ib didn't respond.

"Well I think it is," Guertena snapped, throwing her a glare, "And your red rose, my dear, represents 'true love' and 'courage,'"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ib blurted furiously; Guertena looked at her as if she had two heads.

"Because it's the other half of the piece, don't you see?" he insisted, throwing his hands up in frustration, "True love IS something unattainable by most-impossible! But with _courage_, one can _attain_ that impossibility!" he explained as if he were addressing a small child, "It's genius, I tell you—pure genius!"

Ib kept an eye on him as he kept talking, making sure to watch his where his eyes were looking. She methodically checked Garry's coat pockets, looking for the lighter. It had to be there. It _had_ to be.

"And so you see, my dear, you are the last component of my greatest work yet," Guertena explained. Ib fought to keep her expression stone-faced as her hand grasped something cool and metallic. She kept her hand on it, waiting for the right moment to place it in her pocket.

"What are you saying?" she spat. Guertena looked at her, his shoulders falling slightly.

"And here I had hoped you could appreciate true art," he said forlornly, putting his face in his right hand. Ib seized the opportunity and swiftly pocketed the lighter.

"Maybe…maybe you're right," she lied, trying to sound convincing. The man had her rose.

He looked up at her, surprised. Ib sighed, trying to keep herself calm.

He had her _rose_.

"Maybe if I had a chance to look through your art, I'd understand and appreciate it more," she continued, not daring to think too much about what she was saying. Guertena eyed her warily, a small frown forming on his face.

"Go on," he said, gesturing with his hand for her to keep speaking.

"I…I would just like the opportunity to truly appreciate your work, Sir," she lied again, managing a false smile, "I mean, this whole 'language of flowers' thing really got me thinking. I realize how little I know, now...I would be a much better subject if I truly understood your work, wouldn't I?"

Ib waited anxiously in silence as the man contemplated what she had told him. For a few terrifying moments, she was certain he saw through the lie and was going to swiftly behead her rose.

To the contrary, he smiled at her.

"It has been far too long since someone has truly embraced and studied my work," he said finally, making a sweeping gesture toward the door, "Very well! Come, my dear, and I will show you my gallery-!"

"Actually, I was hoping I could go alone," Ib interrupted, prompting a suspicious glare from Guertena, "And you can hold onto my rose, if that makes you feel better," she heard herself say, though her mind was screaming otherwise, "That way I'll have to come back after I'm through looking,"

Guertena paused thoughtfully, looking down at the rose in his hand.

"You may _never_ come back, by that philosophy," he pointed out. Ib frowned; he was absolutely right. She may very well not return. She could just leap out of that "Fabricated World" painting and get the hell out of there. But she wouldn't.

"_Not without Garry,"_ she finished for herself.

"I'll come back," she reassured him, but Guertena wasn't buying it.

"Why should I believe you?" he snapped.

"Because I'll be on a time limit," she added quietly; her chest tightened with anxiety. "Give me six hours," she added, pointing at her wristwatch. It was still stuck at 3:56 pm.

"That won't work here," Guertena pointed out.

"Not unless you make it work," Ib stated, "It's _your_ universe, after all," she added.

"And…if you don't return after the allotted time?" Guertena inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"You know what to do," Ib said quietly, gesturing toward the rose in his hand. She felt like throwing up; if he even suspected for an instant that she wouldn't return…

Guertena smiled at her, nodding. Ib internally sighed with relief; she had won.

"Very well, my dear," he said, "See you in six hours,"


	4. Chapter 4

Six hours. Why hadn't she said ten? Maybe even twenty-four?

"Stupid," she mumbled to herself as she hurried down yet another corridor. Guertena's paintings were on their best behavior, it seemed; none of them had lunged at her or growled or even moved for the entire time she was wandering around. The paintings were acting like…well, paintings. Not that she was disappointed.

However, she was starting to panic. It had been nearly five hours, by the watch Guertena had reanimated for her, meaning she had a little over an hour left to find it.

Guertena's self-portrait. It was the only way.

She grasped the lighter in her pocket, seeking comfort in the smooth metal against her palm. She had to save him.

"_Just hold on, Garry,"_ she thought to herself, her thoughts returning to the sickly blue rose in Guertena's pocket. He must have reattached the single petal after Mary ruined the rose all those years ago, just to keep Garry alive for his own sick game.

Ib growled, holding her head up with a newfound resolve.

No matter what, she'd kill him.

"Where IS it?" Ib exclaimed, leaning against what seemed like the millionth wall. Still no sign of the portrait, and it had been five and a half hours.

She was running out of time.

Ib frowned as a scraping sound caught her attention. She peered down the hallway, searching for the source of the sudden noise.

She froze.

Mary was running down the hallway, dragging the palette knife along the walls and leaving dark marks as she went. She sped up as she caught sight of Ib.

"_There_ you are," Mary breathed triumphantly as she dashed toward Ib, her eyes sparkling with sheer contempt.

"Mary, wait!" Ib pleaded, taking a few steps back. To her surprise (not to mention relief), Mary did wait. She stopped dead, blinking at her curiously.

Ib could have hugged her, but decided against it. She managed a weak smile, drawing a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she lied, looking down at the floor sheepishly, "About earlier,"

Mary didn't say a word. Ib took the silence to mean that she was listening.

"I was just confused," she admitted—that wasn't a lie, "My memories of this place are all screwed up,"

Mary's silence continued, and so Ib continued speaking.

"But, it's all right now," Ib said, stealing a look up at her. Mary was studying her, wide-eyed, "We're going to get out of here—together,"

Finally, Mary stirred. She removed the palette knife from the wall with a gravelly scraping sound, stroking the dull blade quietly.

"You mean that?" she asked softly. Ib almost felt sorry for her; the tone in her voice screamed desperation.

Ib nodded.

"But you gotta help me do it," Ib elaborated as Mary's face split into a wide grin, causing a few pieces of her face to flake off and elegantly float down onto the floor.

Mary's expression turned to one of confusion as she cocked her head at her.

"Hm? What do you mean?" she inquired, the hand moving along the blade of the palette knife coming to an abrupt stop. Ib hesitated, stealing a look around the empty corridor before moving closer to Mary, lowering her voice.

"The only way out of here is to find Guertena's self-portrait. Do you know where it is?" Ib whispered, praying Guertena hadn't overheard somehow. Mary looked at her as if she'd been slapped.

"W-what?" she blurted, making Ib jump.

"Ssh!" Ib hissed, placing a finger to her lips.

"N-no, we can't do that," Mary blurted, shaking her head vehemently. Ib winced, trying not to look at the shreds of Mary's face and hair flaking off with each movement, "He'll get angry with us,"

"But he's the one keeping us here," Ib insisted, resisting the urge to look at her watch. She didn't have time for this. Mary was her last chance.

Mary had begun stroking the palette knife once more, pressing her lips together into a jagged black line. Her eyes darted around the corridor nervously.

"Please, Mary, you have to show me," Ib pressed, "Don't you want to live with me? In the real world?"

Mary stared straight at her then, her jaw falling open as she gasped.

"You really _did_ come back for me," she whispered, a smile creeping onto her face as she pocketed the palette knife.

Ib couldn't answer; she felt horrible lying to her, even though Mary wasn't even real. She just looked so…vulnerable. Desperate.

"_She just wants to escape…"_ she thought to herself guiltily, but pushed the thought aside. She clutched onto the lighter tightly. She needed to focus.

"So, will you take me there?" Ib asked hurriedly. To her relief, Mary nodded.

"This way," she whispered, breaking into a run down the hallway, "We've gotta hurry!"

Ib followed, refusing to look down at her watch.

Ib gasped for breath as Mary dashed up yet another flight of stairs.

"Hurry, Ib!" Mary shouted from a few steps ahead of her.

"Coming," Ib panted, ignoring the stitch in her side and forcing herself up the seemingly endless floating stairwell. The steps went on forever it seemed, unsupported and spiraling upward into the vaulted ceiling.

"We're almost there!" Mary called gleefully, "See?"

Ib stole a look upward—hope welled up in her for the first time since entering this nightmare as she saw it.

At the top of the stairs, resting on a white platform, was an empty canvas. The glass of the frame had been shattered, announcing Guertena's exit into his own world.

A surge of energy burst forth from within her, and Ib bounded up the remaining steps two at a time, passing Mary on the way up, ("HEY! Wait up!"), but she paid her no heed. She stumbled onto the narrow platform, removing the lighter from her pocket and hurriedly trying to ignite it.

A brief spark flashed, but no flame emerged.

"Come ON, damn it," Ib stated, flicking the lighter over and over again with no luck.

Then she heard it.

The ominous tolling of a bell.

She cried out in agony as something stabbed her through the ribs. She crumpled onto the floor in a heap, clutching her arms to her chest. She struggled to all fours, her hair spilling into her eyes as she desperately tried to ignite the lighter.

GONGGG

It tumbled out of her grip as another wave of pain seared through her, from the back of her neck this time. She cried out in agony and curled up into a ball on the floor.

GONGGG

"S-stop-!" she pleaded as something tore at her shoulder, making a line down to her stomach. Ib screamed, thrashing about in agony as the bell continued its tolling.

She couldn't breathe—the pain was suffocating her, but she couldn't stop screaming. The pain intensified, filling her skull until she thought for certain it was going to explode—

Then…

She was falling-falling through oblivion. She looked up in horror as she tumbled.

Mar y was standing on the platform above her, Garry's lighter clenched in her little paper fist. She watched Ib sadly as the portrait erupted into flames behind her, catching the hem of her tattered green dress.

"NO!" Ib cried, reaching out for something—anything—and finding only air, "NOO!"

She landed with a thud onto something hard. She forced herself to her feet, finding herself in yet another unfamiliar corridor. Her eyes widened in horror as the walls abruptly burst into flames. She shrieked, throwing her arm over her mouth and blinding dashing through the hallway.

"GARRY!" she cried with a hacking cough—the smoke was already overpowering, "GARRY!" she shouted again. She screamed in terror as something came bounding down the hallway after her. A statue of a headless woman, engulfed in flames, flailing her arms about wildly.

"NO!" Ib shrieked, stumbling and clutching a hand to her shoulder as she tore through the closest doorway.

She gasped—it was the blue room.

"GARRY!" she cried, coughing as she made her way over to him. She yelped as the ceiling began caving in, crashing to the floor with a tumultuous thud.

She shouted in pain as she was roughly thrown to the floor by something grabbing her ankle. She spun, scooting backward as the figure of Weiss Guertena emerged from the flames, his blue eyes glinting psychotically. He was almost entirely engulfed in flames now, save for his upper body.

"YOU'VE RUINED ME!" he shouted above the din as another section of the ceiling caved in. He lunged at her, but Ib managed to kick his arm away.

"You ingrate!" he snarled, brandishing two slender roses and tossing them into the air.

"NO!" Ib cried, leaping upward to catch them before they were consumed by the surrounding flames. Guertena laughed hysterically, raising his hands to the sky and collapsing to the ground in a smoldering heap.

Ib lunged forward, but it was too late.

She cried out in pain as her beautiful red rose became trapped beneath a chunk of smoking ceiling tile. Everything hurt—every nerve shouted out in protest, the searing heat consuming her. She crawled to Gary's pedestal, cradling his head in her arms.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed over the din, "I'm sorry,"


	5. Chapter 5

Ib reluctantly opened her left eye, only to be met with gloomy white.

She was lying on something hard and cool, on her side.

So this was it. She was dead.

And, she thought to herself miserably, so was Garry.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, closing her eye and resigning herself to eternity, trying to ignore how whatever she was lying on was hurting her shoulder.

Her crimson eyes snapped open at that thought, blinking away the blurriness.

"No way…" she whispered, rolling over onto her side and looking around.

She was lying on the floor of the gallery.

She slowly propped herself up with her arms, wincing a little at the pain in her shoulder. It was dark and gloomy, the white walls tinged a dull gray.

But…this couldn't be the _real _gallery…could it?

She looked down at her wrist, mouth going dry with anticipation.

She felt her jaw hit the floor.

4:13pm, it said.

_And the second hand was moving._

"I'm…I'm back," she blurted, hardly believing herself. She awkwardly got to her feet, wobbling a bit as she looked around. She was standing in front of a blank canvas, charred black from the inside. Shards of broken glass littered the floor around her, like crystal snow.

And she wasn't alone.

"Garry!" she cried, stumbling toward him and turning him over. She placed an ear to his chest and anxiously waited.

"_Don't be dead,"_ her mind pleaded desperately as she pressed her ear harder into his chest.

She was rewarded with a dull thudding sound.

Ib inhaled sharply. A smile attempted to work its way out, but was cut off by a sob instead.

"Garry," she called gently as tears ran down her face, "Garry, please," she pleaded, shaking his shoulders a little.

Another wave of tears spilled out as the young man's eyelids fluttered.

"Mmph…" he groaned, slowly opening his eyes. He blinked up at her, frowning thoughtfully.

"Garry?" Ib ventured, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes as they cascaded out. The boy blinked at her in surprise, frowning thoughtfully.

"…who…?" he croaked, looking her over thoroughly, "W-why are you crying?" he asked quietly; Ib had to strain in order to hear him.

"I'm just happy," Ib answered, shaking her head, "I'm so glad you're all right,"

"Oh," he breathed, grinning a little and wincing, "Well, thanks," he added, looking around and attempting to sit up. Ib helped him, pressing a hand to his back to keep him from falling to the ground again. He threw a hand to his forehead, surveying the room with an expression Ib couldn't quite pinpoint.

"This…place," he managed, rubbing his temples as his hazel eyes came to rest on the empty canvas.

His expression instantly deteriorated into one of horror. Ib resisted the urge to lunge forward and embrace him, not wanting to startle him more.

"What is it?" she asked instead, rubbing his back gently.

"I remember," he murmured, staring at the burnt canvas intensely, "I was…I was in the gallery. Then the lights went out, and…there was a little girl there, too…" he trailed off, turning and looking at Ib suspiciously. She felt her breath catch in her chest; did he recognize her?

"Where is she?" he asked instead. Ib's heart sank a little.

"She's safe," she managed, swallowing back a sob.

Garry breathed a sigh of relief, smiling that kind smile Ib remembered so clearly now.

"That's good," he murmured, looking around at the empty gallery, "Are we…?"

"Yes, this is the real world," Ib explained gently, "We're safe now,"

Garry looked at her inquisitively, arching an eyebrow.

" 'We?'" he repeated, "Were you trapped in there too?"

Ib nodded, finding herself temporarily unable to speak.

He didn't remember her.

"What about Mary?" Garry asked suddenly, drawing Ib out of her daze.

"She's gone," she whispered with a pang of regret. Mary had actually saved her life, whether she had meant it or not. And Ib had left her behind.

"Good," Garry sighed, "She was crazy,"

Ib nodded in agreement. She looked up suddenly as Garry quickly stumbled to his feet, looking around wildly.

"What's wrong?" Ib asked worriedly, standing up and looking at him. He looked distressed.

"That girl," he blurted, "Where is she?"

"Safe," Ib managed. Something deep in her chest hurt.

Garry looked over at her, opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly.

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, running his hand through his hair, "I didn't even ask your name,"

Ib hesitated before answering. Should she tell him?

"Miss?" he called gently, looking genuinely concerned. He was clearly expecting an answer.

"It's Ib," she said at last, looking down at the floor, "My name is Ib,"

To her horror, he went completely silent. Ib continued staring into the floor, her heart hammering in her chest as she awaited a response.

"Ib…" he said thoughtfully, "That's a nice name. Very unique,"

She felt her heart break then. It shattered into a thousand pieces and settled in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes tightly, determined not to cry anymore.

Of _course_ he wouldn't remember her name. But, at least he remembered her from back then, as a child.

It would have to be enough.

"Sorry, I'm just…worried about her," Garry said quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jacket, "I kind of took care of her, seeing as she was so young and all, and-"

He paused, looking down at his jacket inquisitively.

"What?" Ib asked.

"My lighter," he mumbled, "I thought for sure I had it with me…"

Ib remained silent, swallowing nervously.

"_He doesn't remember you. Get over it,"_ she scolded herself, but it wasn't enough to stop the words from spilling out.

"I came back for you," she blurted before she could stop herself, staring resolutely at the floor again. She clenched her fists; they were trembling.

Awkward silence ensued. Finally, Garry spoke.

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a few steps toward her. Ib couldn't bring herself to speak.

"Ib, look at me," he ordered—though it came out kinder, more like a plea than anything, "Please," he added when she would not comply.

"I'm sorry," she managed, that damned sob she had been keeping at bay spilling out. Garry was next to her in an instant, crouching so he was in her line of vision.

His hazel eyes looked sadly into her crimson ones, smiling lopsidedly.

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything wrong, Ib-" he said kindly, then abruptly stopped. Something flickered briefly across his eyes—recognition?

His mouth fell open as he looked at her then, hazel eyes intensely locked onto red ones.

"I…I said that before," he said quietly, stepping away from Ib and staring at the floor. He slowly lifted his head back up, eyes wide with what Ib had been dying for all along.

"Ib? Is that…you?" he asked.

Ib nodded, wringing her hands. She wasn't certain if she wanted to cry or burst out laughing. Maybe both?

"But that doesn't make any sense," he blurted, panic starting to seep into his voice, "You were a little girl, and-" he froze, a look of horror coming across his pale face.

"Ib," he said hoarsely after a tense silence, "How long have I been trapped in there?"

"Five years," Ib whispered after a moment, looking down at the floor once again.

The silence was deafening, broken by a shuffling noise, followed by a dull thud.

Ib snapped to attention, dashing over to Garry as he leaned wearily against the wall.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He merely shook his head. Ib grabbed his hand—it was trembling.

"It's all right now, Garry," she soothed, taking his hand in both of hers, "It's going to be all right,"


	6. Chapter 6

"You didn't tell me it was a GUY," Seli hissed, peeking out into the living room where Garry was seated. His elbows rested on his knees as he stared at the floor forlornly.

"You didn't ask," Ib responded matter-of-factly. Her friend glared at her, leaning on the refrigerator and tugging nervously on her necklace.

"Look, it's only for one night, I promise," Ib said hurriedly.

"Ib, who the hell is he?" Seli demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and blowing a strand of black hair from her eyes.

Ib hesitated, frowning. "Good question" was what she wanted to say, but decided against it.

"He needs help, Seli," she said instead, looking at her friend sincerely.

Seli snorted.

"Yeah, and so do you," she said flatly, "I mean come ON, Ib, what were you thinking?"

Ib didn't know how to answer that one.

What WAS she thinking? She had lied to her parents-twice in one day, now-ventured into an alternate reality, emerged with a very distraught young man, and had landed at her friend's house with an absolutely unbelievable story to explain herself.

"_A complete stranger," _she thought to herself glumly. But he wasn't. Not...really.

"Did you call your parents already?" Seli demanded. Ib nodded. "So they think you've been here all afternoon, and that you're spending the night?"

Ib nodded again. Her mother had been more than a little surprised, seeing as she hardly ever slept over at anyone else's house, even as a child. Convincing her that she had everything she needed (toothbrush, etc.) had been difficult, but she had finally bought it. Either that, or she had just chosen to overlook the obvious holes in her story. Her mother was probably just happy to see her daughter finally interacting with other people, she noted flatly.

Seli sighed, running her hand through her hair and tugging.

"Ib, what's going on?" she asked quietly, kinder this time. Ib looked up at her, never more grateful for a friend like Seli in her entire life. They had known each other since grade school, and had grown close throughout the years. Her parents were away on a business trip for the next three days, so she was holding the fort for now.

"Do you remember that portrait?" Ib asked. Seli arched an eyebrow at her, "The one in the gallery? Of that boy?" Ib elaborated. Seli just shrugged.

"You mentioned there being a painting you liked," her friend mused, frowning thoughtfully, "What about it?"

Ib hesitated again.

"Did you meet this guy at the gallery?" Seli asked before she could respond, "Like, for a date or something?"

Ib felt her eyebrows retreat into her hairline.

"Wh-what?!" she blurted, looking down at the floor. Her cheeks felt hot.

"Well? Did you?" Seli pried.

"Yes-I mean no-ugh," Ib stammered, clawing at her bangs and looking back up at her friend. Seli was frowning at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Look, I'll explain later," she managed, "Right now I have to take care of Garry,"

Seli threw her a look, then nodded.

"Thank you," Ib sighed as she walked out into the living room.

* * *

Garry inhaled deeply, trying to stave off the panic threatening to burst out of him.

Five years, she had said.

Five _years_.

His stomach lurched for the hundredth time that evening. He sighed, clutching his head in his hands.

How the hell a trip to an art gallery had landed him here, he had no idea. He felt like he should have declined Ib's offer to take him to her friend's house to get things sorted out, but then again…what choice was there? Well, there was his apartment, but-

"Shit," he cursed under his breath as it hit him. After five years, the landlord had certainly thrown out his stuff. He sighed again, keeping his head down as Ib entered the room and sat beside him.

He still couldn't believe that this was the little girl from the portrait world, the one whose hand he held while walking down the corridors, the one he had physically carried in some instances when they were being chased…

"_If you're tired, make sure to tell me right away, ok?"_

He shook his head; it felt like it had all happened yesterday.

"So you're Garry," Ib's friend stated rather sharply from the doorway. Garry looked up, noting the girl's obvious discomfort at him being there.

"Yes, I am," he answered, smiling tiredly, "I'm sorry to be such a burden. I'll head out now," he decided, starting to get to his feet. He could sleep on a bench or something; it would only be for one night.

"No, that's okay," the girl said hurriedly, sitting on a chair across from him. She almost looked surprised at his statement, as if expecting him to say something else, "Please, sit back down," she gestured.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, bowing his head a little as he sank back onto the couch. God, he was exhausted, "And I didn't catch your name, I'm afraid,"

"I'm Seli," she responded, returning the bow and playing with a charm dangling from her neck, "Any friend of Ib's is a friend of mine," she added, getting to her feet and heading out toward the kitchen, "Do you like green tea, Garry? I know Ib does—I'll make you guys some,"

"Tea sounds great, thank you," Garry answered, thrilled at the prospect of drinking something hot. He had been chilled through from the instant he woke up on the floor of the gallery. After Seli had returned to the kitchen, he turned to Ib, managing a weak smile.

"Well, here we are," he sighed, not sure of what to say. What _was_ there to say, really?

Ib nodded, looking up at him worriedly. Those crimson eyes of hers were vivid, unforgettable; Garry wasn't certain how he had missed that it was her earlier.

"I'm fine, Ib, really," he lied. He didn't want to upset her, though inside he was screaming. Ib didn't say anything, but nodded hesitantly.

"So…what happened back there?" Garry asked finally, though in all honesty he didn't want to know.

Ib looked just as uncomfortable with the subject, squirming in her seat and averting her eyes. He waited for her to draw a deep breath and chew on her lower lip for a while before looking back up at him.

"Mary tried to kill you," Ib said softly, looking down at her hands in her lap, "She destroyed your rose. Do you…remember that?"

Garry frowned, looking up at the ceiling.

"My…rose?" he asked, deep in-thought.

Then it hit him.

_The blue rose, its soft petals dotting the red carpet. _

_He had to get it back. If he didn't-_

_He fell to the floor as the pain shot up his spine. He breathed heavily, trying to stand and failing. _

"_Damn….damn it," he cursed to himself as the pain intensified._

"_Go on ahead…if you need me, I'll come running…"_

_She _had_ gone ahead, albeit reluctantly. He had been glad to see her go, not wanting her to witness this. He crawled over toward the wall, propping himself against it as the pain began to turn to numbness. _

_It was all right, he told himself, because she was safe. Ib would live. She would live, and escape from this place…_

_He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. He was tired._

_He gave himself up to oblivion, smiling as the blackness took the pain away…_

"Garry?" Ib asked, sounding rather frightened. Garry physically jumped as she tore him from his trance.

"I…" he squeaked over the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears, "Ib, I…"

Ib grabbed his hand then, holding it firmly. He looked down at her, swallowing nervously.

"You can tell me," she said quietly, "It's all right,"

"I…died," he croaked, feeling his mouth go dry.

To his surprise, Ib shook her head.

"No, you didn't," she corrected him as she squeezed his hand.

"I didn't?" Garry managed, a swell of hope building up within his chest, "But…I remember…"

"You became a painting," Ib said, followed instantly by "Are you all right?" at the expression on his face. The little ray of hope disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"_No,"_ he wanted to say, _"no, I'm not,"_ but he resisted.

"Why don't you lie down," Ib suggested, squeezing his hand again.

"Why?" he asked.

"You turned really pale just now…" Ib trailed off, biting her lip. Garry noted with a twinge of guilt that her lower lip had been quivering. He must have really scared her.

"I'm fine, Ib, really," he lied, trying to smile and failing—it came out as more of a grimace—"I'm just tired, that's all,"

Ib nodded slowly, looking him over carefully.

"So I…was a…painting, huh?" he asked sheepishly, looking down at a spot on the carpet and focusing on it. It was the only thing keeping him from either babbling hysterically or fainting dead away at the moment.

"Guertena wanted you to become his latest work," Ib continued softly. Garry frowned, looking up at her.

"Wait…Guertena?" he asked, "As in the artist?"

Ib nodded. Garry quickly returned his gaze to the spot on the floor as the urge to run screaming around the room seized him. God, he needed a cigarette-bad.

"But you got out of there…right?" he asked, trying to avert the subject a little. To his relief, she said yes. "Ah," he sighed, "That's good,"

"I couldn't remember anything," she continued quietly, "But when I saw that painting of you, you looked…familiar to me, and I couldn't stay away. I visited that portrait for five years trying to figure out what it was that drew me to it," she paused, drawing a deep breath.

"Until today," Garry finished for her.

"Right," Ib sighed. A rustling noise to his right announced her shifting in her seat nervously, "That was when I met Guertena…and Mary…again,"

"What?!" Garry blurted, tearing his gaze from his focus point and blinking at her incredulously, "I thought you got rid of her!"

"So did I," Ib answered softly, "But Guertena brought her back,"

Garry shivered, biting his lip. Yup, that cigarette needed to happen sooner rather than later.

"So you had to destroy her…again?" Garry pried. To his shock, Ib suddenly looked ready to burst into tears.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, turning to her and awkwardly touching her shoulder.

"She helped me," Ib spluttered as her eyes welled with tears, "She led me right to Guertena's self-portrait,"

Garry blinked; there were just no words.

"She thought I was there to get her out. I lied to her, Garry. I _used_ her…" she trailed off, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Garry awkwardly drew her into his chest, patting her back soothingly.

"She wasn't real, Ib," he offered.

"I know," she muttered into his shirt, "It's just…sad,"

"I know…I know…" Garry said gently.

"Guertena wanted me to become a painting too, with you," Ib sniffed, rising to a sitting position and looking up at him, "He said my red rose and your blue one meant something to him,"

Garry frowned, exhaling and running a hand through his hair.

"I'm just glad he's gone for good," he admitted, looking over at Ib. She looked upset.

"How old are you now, Ib?" he asked, eager to change the subject. She appeared surprised at the sudden shift in conversation, tilting her head to the side before answering.

"I'm fourteen," she answered, "How about you?"

Garry hesitated. He wasn't exactly sure, with the current circumstance.

"Well, when I entered the portrait world, I was sixteen," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

"Then you're still sixteen," Ib said confidently, the edges of her mouth tugging in a small smile.

"But you said it's been five years," Garry pointed out, though his mind was still reeling from that fact, "Wouldn't I be twenty-one?"

Ib shook her head.

"Time stops in there," she explained, gesturing toward her wristwatch, "You've been sixteen all this time,"

Garry inhaled deeply, trying to take it all in.

"Well I guess I'm lucky then," he mused, managing a lopsided grin. Ib nodded hesitantly.

"All right, who wants some tea?" Seli called from the kitchen as she emerged with a tray.

Garry smiled; tea was certainly a welcome distraction.


	7. Chapter 7

It was all Seli could do to hold the tray straight when she walked into her living room. She had gone into the kitchen to give the two of them time to talk alone, but that didn't mean she wasn't straining to listen to their conversation, either. Ib had never been one to speak loudly, anyway, but it seemed to her that they were speaking particularly quietly…like they were hiding something.

She had to admit, she had been surprised at how gentle his voice had been when she had addressed him. From the looks of him, she expected a gravelly, almost sinister kind of tone. The torn jacket, the messy hair—it all spelled out a hoodlum, and Seli wasn't about to let her house get ransacked by some stranger, friend of Ib's or not. But when he spoke, she saw another person sitting in front of her. A very kind, very quiet, very _tired_ young man. She could see instantly why Ib had taken a liking to him, based on his mannerisms.

Still, she couldn't help but overhear one phrase in particular as she was out in the kitchen, the only one she had been able to make out while she was pouring hot water into their mugs.

"_What?! I thought you got rid of her!"_

She had nearly dropped the tea kettle. Get rid of? Is that what he had said?

What the hell had Ib gotten herself into?

Moreover, what had she dragged HER into?

"Thank you," Garry said politely as he took the steaming mug from her, smiling a little and looking down into the cup.

"S-sure," Seli managed, handing Ib her tea and throwing her a worried look. Her friend raised her eyebrows at her in a pleading gesture, forcing Seli to keep her opinion to herself.

She would have a talk with her later, that was for certain.

"So…how did you guys meet?" Seli asked as she took a sip of her tea. Garry actually looked surprised, blinking up at her with the one eye she could see—the other was covered in a mop of unruly lavender (?) bangs.

"At the art gallery," Ib answered for him, staring intently into her cup, "He and I were both looking at the exhibits,"

Seli watched Garry's expression carefully as he looked down into his tea.

Yup, he was definitely hiding something.

"So you're interested in art?" Seli pried. Garry nodded, looking up at her.

"Yeah, it's always been a hobby of mine," he answered.

"You paint?" Seli asked. Garry shook his head, taking a sip from his mug.

"No, but I draw a little," he shrugged.

"Where are you from?" Seli pushed, watching his face carefully. She ignored an icy glare from Ib; she had to know if this guy was dangerous or not if he was going to stay anywhere near her.

"I'm new here," Garry answered—Seli noted he wouldn't meet her eyes. "I moved here a couple of weeks ago,"

"Oh?" Seli asked, "What school do you go to?"

Garry was quiet for a moment before answering, looking down at the floor.

"I'm getting a GED," he admitted, looking up at her sheepishly, "I dropped out,"

Seli felt her jaw hit the floor. What kind of company was Ib keeping, anyway?

"Sorry to hear that," Seli responded, though her mind was still reeling. Who WAS this guy?

Garry sighed, shrugging his shoulders again and looking down into his mug.

"It was unfortunate, but…it's better this way," he said quietly, barely above a whisper, "For everyone,"

Awkward silence ensued. Garry snapped his head up and frowned at her; his cheeks were reddening.

"S-sorry," he muttered, "Forget I said that,"

"Uh…sure," Seli blurted, taking a long dreg of tea so she could look away from him.

Wow. Just…wow. She was torn between being terrified of him and wanting to give him a hug. Ultimately, she decided on neither.

"H-how old are you?" she asked, clearing her throat to cover up the stammer. To her surprise—not to mention unease—Garry hesitated, frowning into his mug thoughtfully before responding.

"I'm…sixteen," he said finally, glancing over at Ib. She nodded, looking up at him with concern in those crimson eyes. Seli turned her gaze back on Garry; he looked exhausted.

"You know, it's getting late," Seli said, stretching and standing up, "Maybe we should all try to get some rest and talk in the morning, hm?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Ib agreed, rising from her seat, "Will you be all right out here, Garry?" she added as she took his nearly empty tea mug from him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Garry answered with a small smile, "And…thank you, Seli. You too, Ib," he added, nodding at each of them in-turn. Seli nodded back, trying not to look like she was rushing out of the room to get some distance between them.

"I'll get you a pillow and stuff," she mumbled on her way out. She ducked behind a corner and exhaled, trying to calm herself down. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the stranger in her living room, but she prayed Ib knew who she was dealing with.

* * *

After Garry had been taken care of, Seli and Ib had retreated to her bedroom—Seli had locked the door, just to be safe—so they could finally talk. Seli sighed, taking a seat on her bed next to Ib.

"Okay," she said, "I'm ready,"

Ib swallowed before speaking, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"We did meet at the gallery, Seli, that wasn't a lie," Ib said pointedly, a hint of frustration in her tone. Seli just nodded. "But…not the way you think," she added cryptically.

"So it wasn't a date?" Seli blurted, noting how red Ib's cheeks became.

"No, it wasn't," she said flatly, glaring at her and looking up at the ceiling, "We met when I was nine,"

Seli blinked.

"What?" she asked, "I thought you said you met him at the gallery today,"

"Not _today_," Ib insisted, shaking her head, "I met him five years ago in the gallery,"

"Well there goes his story about moving here a couple of weeks ago," Sali said with a frown, "He lied to me,"

"No, he didn't!" Ib almost shouted, "He…"

Seli waited patiently for her to continue, though she almost wanted to shake her. She found herself tugging at her necklace again; it was a bad habit she'd picked up as of late. Finally, Ib spoke again.

"He's been at that gallery since I was nine," she said. Seli didn't even bother responding to that one.

"He's been trapped in there, Seli," Ib continued, looking at her sincerely, "When I was nine, we both got sucked into a painting and ended up in this weird alternate version of the art gallery. Garry gave his life for mine, and I was able to escape while he stayed behind,"

Seli just stared at her, unable to speak.

"Remember that portrait I mentioned?" Ib pressed, "He was in it! HE was the boy in the painting!"

Seli remained silent.

"And I would have told you sooner, but I couldn't remember anything," Ib continued, "All I knew was that particular painting meant something to me. I can't really explain it, but I _knew_ that I knew who he was. So today, I got sucked back into the painting world and got him out. I rescued him,"

Ib hesitated, frowning at her friend. Her expression hadn't changed for the past few minutes as she stared at her blankly.

"You…don't believe me, do you?" she asked quietly, slumping her shoulders in defeat.

Seli swallowed, hesitating.

"Please, Seli, you have to believe me," Ib pleaded, wringing her hands, "I'm telling you the truth, I swear,"

More silence followed, until…

"Ib?" Seli asked, "Are you doing drugs? Maybe with that guy?"

Ib's heart sank.

"W-what?" she blurted, "Seli, how could you say such a thing?" she demanded. Now she was angry. She had gone through a horror her friend couldn't even imagine in her worst nightmares—twice!-and she had the nerve to say she was on drugs?

Her friend shook her head sadly, looking down at the comforter.

"I'm sorry, Ib, but I have to ask," she said glumly, twirling the heart-shaped pendant around her neck between her fingers, "You aren't acting like yourself. This—" she said, throwing her arm out toward the locked door for emphasis, "—is completely out of character for you. And lying to your parents? You're scaring me, you know that?"

"I'm sorry," Ib managed, her stomach knotting itself up. She was absolutely right-except about the drug thing.

Seli sighed, rubbing her eyes and stealing a look at the clock on her wall. It was past 10:30, and she'd been up since five.

"Look, Ib, I'm tired," she yawned, "We can talk in the morning if you're ready to tell me the truth,"

"But I AM telling you the truth!" Ib cried, clenching her fists, "Seli, please-!"

"_Enough_, Ib," her friend sighed, grabbing her pajamas off of her nightstand and shuffling into her bathroom, "You know where my extra PJs are; help yourself,"

Ib stared at the bathroom door long after it had clicked shut, her heart sinking.

She didn't believe her.

Nobody would.

Nobody.

Ib swallowed, rummaging through her friend's dresser and pulling her torn shirt over her head. Seli hadn't even noticed. She balled her clothing up onto a chair, grabbed one of Seli's pillows, and walked out into the living room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Warning: this chapter starts off a little dark-domestic violence involved.**

* * *

Garry cautiously proceeded down the red corridor, looking back over his shoulder every now and then to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Where _was_ he?

He jumped and clenched his fists as a loud thud came from the end of the hallway, the thorns on the blue rose sticking him in the palm for the umpteenth time. He froze, staring in that direction for a moment before proceeding. It had sounded like a door slamming, he was sure of it.

As he approached, the sound of someone crying met his ears. It sounded like a child.

"Hello?" he called as he picked up his pace. He received no answer.

"Hello?" he called again as he approached a blue door at the end of the corridor. It was cracked open; a sliver of yellow light spilled out onto the carpet from within. He pulled it open cautiously, taking a step inside—

He suddenly found himself hunched against the wall, sobbing into his knees softly.

"_No,"_ he thought, panicking. He had to get out of there. He tried to get to his feet, but couldn't—his twelve year-old self was paralyzed with fear.

"Don't you run away from me!" a man warned from the doorway across the room as heavy footsteps approached.

"_Oh God,"_ Garry thought frantically, _"Get up!"_ he ordered himself, but to no avail.

This wasn't happening.

Not again.

He winced as the door flew open and a broad, stocky man burst into the room, looking down at Garry through mirthless blue eyes. He glowered at him, rolling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"Get up," he ordered. All Garry could do was sob.

"I SAID GET UP!" the man bellowed. Garry jumped, scrambling to his feet and looking resolutely down at the floor.

"I-I'm sorry-" he spluttered as he was hoisted up by the arms and roughly shoved, almost thrown, across the small room. Garry skidded into the far wall and curled against it protectively.

"Shut up, you little shit," the man spat as he bounded across the room after him. Garry tried to crawl away, but was roughly hoisted to his feet by the back of his neck.

"You think you can just steal my stuff and get away with it?" the man hissed, spinning Garry around and forcing him to face him. Garry yelped as he grabbed a fistful of Garry's hair and tugged.

"S-stop, Shawn!" Garry managed as he struggled to free himself. To his horror, the man just laughed; a mirthless cackle that sent chills down Garry's spine.

" 'Stop, Shawn,' bleh bleh bleh," Shawn mimicked, waving the hand not ripping Garry's hair out in a mocking gesture, "God, you're pathetic," he added, shoving Garry into the back wall for good measure. Garry winced, turning away. The man's breath reeked of alcohol.

"This is what you get for messing with my stuff," Shawn growled, "Don't go thinkin' I'm some kind of pushover," he threatened, "I'm your goddamn father now, so you'd best pay me some respect,"

"You're _not_ my father," Garry snapped before he could stop himself. He instantly regretted it as Shawn roughly yanked his head forward.

"What did you just say?" he demanded as Garry doubled over, throwing his hands to his head so Shawn couldn't latch on again.

"Oh, you're in deep shit now, boy," Shawn hissed. Garry heard a distinct cracking noise and felt an instant pang of fear.

He knew that sound.

He cried out as the man's fist made contact with his jaw. He tumbled to the floor, clasping a hand to his face and scooting away on his behind. If possible, Shawn looked down at him with even more contempt.

"You're worthless," he snapped, "It should have been you that died, not Ben," he added. Garry winced, curling into a little ball and praying that the man would just walk away.

After a tense silence, Shawn did leave. Garry lay on the floor for he wasn't sure how long, curled up into a ball. He let the tears roll freely, feeling them run down his face and listening to them hit the wooden floor with small plops.

He hugged his knees closer into his chest, praying for the pain in his head to stop. He would have to tell his mother later the same story he had off and on for the past three months or so.

"_I got into a fight walking home from school. Some guys jumped me. No, I don't know who they were. No, I didn't get a good look at them. No, don't call the police…"_

He let loose a wracking sob, feeling his entire body shake.

Shawn was right. It _should _have been him, not Ben. Shawn loved Ben; he would never have treated him this way.

_Ben._

"I'm sorry," Garry sobbed, though he wasn't really sure why. He had just been sitting on the wrong side of the car, that was all. If he had only switched seats with him, things would have been so different.

He slowly got to a sitting position, looking around Ben's old room with sadness. He may not have been blood, but he was the closest thing Garry had ever had to a brother.

He missed him so much that it hurt.

He would sleep in Ben's room, sometimes, when the memories became too much to bear. Shawn hated it; that was why he had installed a new lock on the door. Garry had grown accustomed to picking the lock, choosing to sit in his stepbrother's old room after school before Shawn got home.

Things had gotten progressively worse since the accident. Shawn had taken to the bottle on a daily basis, often taking out his frustrations on his twelve year-old stepson. This time, it had been because Shawn had misplaced his pocket knife. Rather than looking for it, it was much easier to blame Garry.

Garry realized with a jolt that he was still in Ben's room. He wasn't sure why Shawn had let him remain there after their latest encounter.

"_It must have been the beer…"_he thought vaguely, looking around the room and spotting a tattered gray jacket hanging off of Ben's bookshelf. He shakily got to his feet, noting absently that his jaw didn't need to be put back in place this time. He made his way over to the jacket and stroked the fabric gently.

Ben's favorite jacket. He loved that thing—said it made him look "badass." Garry smiled lopsidedly, the full grin prevented from emerging due to the pain. He carefully put the jacket on, buttoning it down the front and taking a look in Ben's mirror on his dresser. It was a little big, but he'd grow into it.

He whirled back around as a noise caught his attention. It had been piercing, like…giggling?

"Who's there?" he called, frowning at how his voice cracked. All he got for an answer was another high-pitched laugh. Garry shivered; it was closer this time.

"Down here!" a shrill voice called. Garry froze; that voice had come from right next to him.

He slowly turned, coming face-to-face with the leering red eyes of a disturbing doll. Its blue face split into a jagged grin as their eyes locked.

"Play with me," it said, crawling up his pantleg.

"NO!" Garry cried, kicking in an attempt to shake the thing off. He gasped as something grabbed his other leg. He looked down; two more dolls were climbing on top of him, followed by another, and another…

"NOO!" he shouted, flailing his arms as he was engulfed.

* * *

Seli rolled out of bed, stealing a look at her clock and noting Ib's absence. Almost 9:00-good thing it was a Saturday. She sighed, rubbing her eyes and grabbing the remote for her television. She flicked the power button, yawning as the TV crackled to life.

"…possible thunderstorms rolling in around 5 or 6:00 this evening…" the news anchor blabbed as she rummaged through her drawers and selected her outfit. She trudged into the bathroom as a "Breaking News Bulletin" was announced on the screen.

She sighed again as she turned the faucet on, grabbing her toothbrush. She hated seeing Ib upset. She hated the fact that her friend was acting so strangely, but what was she supposed to think? This just wasn't the Ib she knew, floating around somewhere in her house with a complete stranger, she noted with a jolt.

How had she been so _stupid_? When Ib had called her saying her friend was in trouble and they needed a place to stay for the night, Seli had been more than a little concerned; she had been terrified.

"_Ib, what's wrong?" she had asked, unable to hide the panic in her voice._

"_I'm fine, but…we just need somewhere to go. Can I come over? Please?"_

Seli shook her head as she loaded the toothbrush up with toothpaste. What else could she have done? She couldn't possibly tell her no. That was probably why Ib told the tale the way she had, Seli noted with a growl. Awfully manipulative of her, really.

She wet the toothbrush and turned the faucet back off again with a squeak. The news report from the television floated into the bathroom as she vigorously brushed her teeth.

"…an act of arson at the art gallery downtown has led to an investigation—"

"What?!" Seli blurted, spraying her mirror with toothpaste foam and dashing out into her room. The television was displaying a crime scene, outlined in yellow tape. A policeman walked past the camera as the reporter spoke, stepping forward with a microphone in-hand.

"Investigators approximate that around 4:15 yesterday afternoon, vandals destroyed the Guertena art exhibit in the gallery," she said, flipping her blonde bangs out of her eyes as the cameras roved over the artwork.

Seli felt her jaw drop open; she closed it quickly to keep the toothpaste from dribbling out. The paintings along the walls were all charred black, like they had combusted from the middle of the canvas. Seli dashed back into the bathroom, spat into the sink, and ran back out again.

"…baffled at how the pieces appear to be burnt, but the glass frames are still intact. The only painting with any visible damage to the outside covering is this one," the reporter continued.

"Whoa," Seli breathed, sitting on the edge of her bed. The screen showed one small picture, charred like the others, but with its glass covering completely destroyed. Shards of shattered glass covered the white marble floor, crunching beneath the investigators' feet as they took samples and placed them into baggies.

"Guertena's final—and arguably most mysterious—work, 'Forgotten Portrait,' used to reside in this frame," she continued as an image of the original painting came up.

Seli gasped, throwing her hands up to her mouth.

The painting was of a young man, slumped against the wall with his chin resting on his chest. He had light, almost lavender-colored hair, and wore a tattered gray jacket and tan slacks.

"N-no way," Seli managed through the shock.

Garry. It was Garry.

"Although Guertena's signature is on the bottom left-hand corner of the piece, a trademark for all of his work," she said as a small circle came up on a close-up of the painting, showing said signature, "Experts were baffled at the origins of this piece, as there are no records of Guertena ever creating it,"

"We like to say that it just 'appeared,'" a chubby man with spectacles joked. The bottom of the screen displayed his name—some crazy European one—along with the title "art connoisseur."

"It's really his finest work, if you consider all of the mystery surrounding it," the man added.

Seli licked her lips nervously—this was crazy.

"The only evidence the gallery—which was closed at 4 pm on Friday—has to go by as to who could have done this is a grainy surveillance video showing two figures rushing out the front door," the reporter continued, "Due to power outage, the video feed is relatively short," she stated matter-of-factly as said video came up.

Seli fought the urge to shriek; two figures she clearly recognized as Ib and Garry were indeed rushing out the front door. Thankfully, she noted, they both had their heads down.

"The most compelling part of this video is the figure on the left," the reporter continued, "who appears similar to the subject in Guertena's 'Forgotten Portrait.'"

Seli's heart leapt into her mouth as the camera zoomed in on the grainy footage of who she knew was Garry.

"Of course, 'Forgotten Portrait' probably wasn't based on a real person-so few of his subjects were," the European man from earlier said with a chuckle, "But that doesn't rule out the possibility of a deranged fan coming in here and destroying his work,"

"The authorities are asking anyone with any information to…" the reporter drawled, but Seli was already out the door and in the hallway.

Ib rubbed her eyes and stretched, quietly uncurling herself from the armchair she had spent the early morning in. Garry was still asleep, it seemed. His mouth hung open a little, and his chest rose and fell softly underneath the blanket Ib had covered him with probably a hundred times that night.

His sleep hadn't been a restful one, Ib noted sadly as she crept into the hallway. The poor guy had tossed and turned all night long, whimpering. He had been pleading with someone named "Shawn," though Ib wasn't sure why. Whoever it was, he didn't sound very friendly. Ib had spent most of the night beside the couch, awkwardly patting him in the forehead. It seemed to help a little, but it tore her up to see him in such pain.

She stopped an instant before being slammed into by Seli careening down the hallway.

"Ib!" she said breathlessly, grabbing her friend's shoulders, "I-!"

"Ssh!" Ib hissed, putting a finger to her lips, "Garry's still sleeping,"

"Sorry," Seli said, slumping her shoulders sheepishly, "I just wanted…to apologize for last night,"

Ib blinked.

"You're absolutely right. I'm sorry I doubted you," Seli continued. Ib looked at her like she had sprouted another head.

"You…are?" Ib managed through her confusion. Seli nodded.

"They just showed the art gallery on TV," she whispered, "All of the paintings are burnt to a crisp,"

"What?" Ib blurted as her stomach lurched.

"And you guys are on the security footage," Seli added hastily.

"W-what?!" Ib burst out, forgetting Garry for a moment as panic rose in her chest, "Can you tell it's us?"

"Well…" Seli trailed off, licking her lips nervously, "They noticed how Garry looks like that guy in that painting, and…"

She stopped, looking behind Ib. Ib turned around; Garry was peering around the corner into the hallway, yawning.

"Is everything okay?" he asked groggily, rubbing the back of his head.

* * *

Garry stared in horror at the news report, his mind reeling. Every single one of Guertena's pieces was destroyed—like they had self-combusted or something. The sculptures had suffered damage too, with blotches of charcoal black scarring their exteriors.

"New evidence has emerged in the arson case in the Guertena exhibit of the downtown art gallery," the reporter said sternly, "Investigators have discovered a lighter which they believe may be the cause of the-"

Garry couldn't hear anything over his pulse hammering in his ears. He gaped as the screen showed the item the reporter had been talking about-a lighter lay on the white tiles of the gallery, charred black.

"That's…" he trailed off, "…that's mine…"

"Does it have your name on it or anything?" Seli blurted nervously. Garry slowly shook his head as the reporter continued.

"Interestingly, the burn marks on the lighter appear to be in the shape of a fist," she said as one of the cops flipped the lighter over in his gloved hands. Garry gasped along with the two girls; what looked like the silhouette of a small hand—a child's hand-was branded onto the lighter.

"That wasn't there before," Ib whispered. Garry nodded silently.

He felt the blood drain from his face as the reporter started talking about security footage.

"No way," he muttered, anxiously awaiting the surveillance tape.

"Oh GOD," he blurted as the blurry video came up. Their faces were hidden, but his hair and outfit were clearly visible.

"As mentioned earlier, the subject on the left bears a stark resemblance to the subject of Guertena's 'Forgotten Portrait,' Guertena's last, and arguably the most interesting, piece," the reporter continued.

Garry felt his jaw hit the floor as 'Forgotten Portrait' was displayed on the screen. It was him, all right, and he was dead. Slumped against the wall with his head lolling against his chest…

"Ib…" he faltered. His head was spinning.

Ib had grabbed his arm in an instant, leading him toward the couch to sit down. He sank onto the cushion, his knees suddenly feeling very weak.

"_You became a painting…"_

"So that…was…me?" he managed. Talking had suddenly become very difficult, seeing as his teeth had insisted on clattering together loudly.

"I'm sorry," Ib said quietly as she sat down next to him. Garry inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and trying not panic.

"_It's over. You didn't actually die,"_ he coached himself, _"Get a grip, Garry,"_

Where was that cigarette?!

After a few moments of silence, he mustered the strength to speak.

"So now what?" he managed, stealing a look at Ib. She looked worried.

"We change that hair of yours, that's what," Seli answered, causing Ib to raise an eyebrow.

"Huh?" Garry blurted, turning to where Seli was standing in front of the TV.

"Well you can't go walking around looking like that guy in the painting," she said matter-of-factly, "They'll think you were the arsonist,"

Garry frowned; she was right.

"Well, I've been meaning to cut my hair a little…" he trailed off thoughtfully. He couldn't remember the last time he had bothered cutting his hair, come to think of it…

He jumped as Seli rushed over to him, joining Ib in staring at his scalp intensely. He squirmed under their gaze.

"Uh…gals?" he asked awkwardly, "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," Seli answered cryptically. Garry swallowed; he didn't like the looks on their faces.

"Blonde?" Seli offered, "Maybe with some red?"

Ib shook her head.

"No," she said quietly, "Brown is better,"

"He'd look weird with brown," Seli said flatly, grabbing a tuft of his hair, "It needs to be lighter,"

"Light brown, then?" Ib offered.

"Yeah, that could work," Seli agreed.

"Excuse me?" Garry said flatly, glaring up at the two of them, "It's _my_ head; I think I should have the final say in this," he added as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Okay then," Seli conceded, "What color do you want?"

Garry blinked up at her in surprise.

"Why can't I just cut it?" he whined. To his confusion, Seli snorted.

"Oh come on, don't be a baby," she ordered, "It's not like you don't dye your hair already," she added, grabbing a strand of dark, almost violet-colored hair springing from the part in the back of his head.

"Actually, I don't," he said flatly, flicking her hand away.

"Really?" Seli asked, clearly flabbergasted.

"Yeah," Garry shrugged, "My hair's always looked like this. I get it from my dad, I guess—at least, that's what my mom used to tell me," he added awkwardly.

"I think it's pretty," Ib said suddenly. She froze, then looked down at the floor as she turned scarlet. Garry felt his own cheeks reddening, too, though he couldn't stop a grin from coming out.

"Uh, so…" he stammered, trying to change the subject, "maybe…brown?" he asked with a grimace.

* * *

"Whoa," he managed as he looked in the mirror. Ib and Seli had done quite a job on him—well, Seli, mostly. His unruly bangs were cut to a more reasonable length, he figured—at least now he could see out of both eyes. As for the color, it had turned from a pale lavender to a sandy brown.

He hardly recognized himself.

"Well?" Seli asked proudly from behind him, "What do you think?"

"Uh…" he faltered, "It's…you guys did a good job," he finished, "Thanks,"

Seli grinned broadly as she started helping Ib clean up the mess they had made of her kitchen. Garry did likewise.

"So…" Seli trailed off as she starting wiping down the kitchen table, "I…I gotta ask," she blurted, "What was it like? Being inside of a painting and all?"

Garry frowned, looking down at the floor. How to describe the indescribable?

"It wasn't fun," Ib answered for him, "It was a nightmare,"

"Well put, Ib," Garry said, turning his attention toward the gob of his hair on the floor and wiping it up with a paper towel, "All of the paintings in the gallery sprung to life and came after us," he elaborated. He felt like he owed her a bit more of an explanation than what Ib had offered.

"Came after you?" Seli repeated, "Like…tried to kill you?"

"Right," Garry nodded, dumping his hair clippings into the garbage, "We had to run like hell to get away from them, too. But we did it! Eh, Ib?" he added brightly at the end, turning toward her and smiling. Ib smiled back half-heartedly as she nodded.

"Wow," Seli breathed, shaking her head, "So you didn't actually have to…fight them, right?" she hesitated as she placed what was left of the hair dye back into a box.

Garry hesitated, stealing a look at Ib. To his surprise, she nodded her head.

"It's all right, Garry," she said quitely, turning to her friend, "I had to destroy two of them in order to get out," she continued, swallowing. Garry smiled, quietly admiring her courage.

"Oh," Seli breathed.

"One of them was a girl named Mary," Ib continued, "She…she wanted to kill Garry in order to take his place in the real world,"

Garry's stomach lurched, but he said nothing.

"She was the reason he got turned into a painting," Ib finished quietly, lowering her head, "I lit her painting on fire to stop her,"

Seli was silent, biting her lip as Ib finished her story.

"When I…went back in, I met Guertena's painting he had done of himself," she said, clearing her throat around the lump forming.

"Whoa," Seli blurted, gesturing for Ib to sit down. Garry noted then how pale she was.

"Take it easy, Ib," he coached as she plunked herself into the kitchen chair. The hollowness to her eyes worried him. He found himself angry with Seli all of a sudden, asking such prying questions. Still, he figured glumly, she had a right to know what had really gone on if she was tasked with helping them…

"You okay?" Garry asked gently, kneeling on the floor next to her. Ib nodded resolutely.

"Anyway, I tried to burn Guertena's portrait too, to save Garry and escape," she continued, though her voice trembled a little. Garry reached out and awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder; Ib grinned sheepishly at him.

"I couldn't find the portrait, so Mary had to help me-"

"But I thought she was dead," Seli interrupted, her mouth hanging open in terror.

"She was," Garry corrected, "Until Guertena brought her back,"

"Oh God," Seli exclaimed, shaking her head, "That's horrible,"

"Guertena found out what I was up to and tried to get rid of me," Ib continued, "But then…Mary lit the painting on fire herself,"

It was Garry's turn to have his mouth drop open.

"What?" he and Seli asked at the same time. Ib shook her head, rubbing her eyes.

"I know, I don't understand it either," she said, "She thought…" she paused for a moment, closing her eyes, "She thought I was trying to get her out. I... I lied to her—I _had to_—in order to escape," she emphasized as if struggling with her decision, "Why she helped me, I have no idea…"

Awkward silence ensued until Seli spoke.

"The lighter," she whispered suddenly, "So…the handprint on the lighter…"

Garry froze; it made sense—well, as much sense as this madness could, given the circumstance. But…why had Mary done it?

"I think so," Ib answered before standing up, "But it's over," she said resolutely, "And I'd rather not think about it anymore. Okay?"

"Fine by me," Garry said, standing up and stretching.

"So now what?" Seli asked after a brief moment of silence.

"Hm?" Garry asked, cocking his head to the side. He hadn't even thought of that, actually.

"Well I guess I need to find myself an apartment," he answered with a shrug, "Then a job, and then get back to that GED," he continued, noting with a sinking feeling that he was going to be five years behind. Five years. He'd probably need to enroll in the program all over again.

"We'll help you," Ib piped up, "right after we get some breakfast," she added.

"Oh yeah," Seli muttered, stealing a look at the clock, "I almost forgot about that,"

"No, it's fine, you don't have to-!" Garry insisted as he waved his hands. He felt bad enough for putting Ib through the portrait world again—not to mention getting Seli in a spot. He couldn't burden them any further in good conscience.

"I want to help, Garry," Ib interrupted firmly.

"Yeah, me too," Seli answered, slamming a stack of cereal bowls onto the kitchen counter for emphasis, "Don't think you're gonna ditch us that easily," she added slyly.

"Yeah," Ib seconded with a grin. Garry sighed, pretending to look annoyed. Deep down, however, he had never been so relieved in his life.

"Fine," he conceded, joining Ib in taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Good," Seli said as she placed a box of cereal on the table, "Then eat up!"

* * *

Seli frowned a little as she followed Garry and Ib to the front door of the sixth apartment building that day. Everything was proving to be too expensive for him so far, and as a result they had been forced farther and farther away from her and Ib's neighborhood.

"Okay," Garry sighed, "I'll try this one next. You two okay out here?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Ib answered cheerily, "Good luck,"

"Thanks," Garry said with a grin, "Here goes nothing," he added uncertainly, stepping through the doorway.

"Please let this one be it," Seli groaned, leaning against the wall tiredly, "I'm hungry already," she added, turning to look at Ib. Her friend was staring up at the peeling paint of the roof above the doorway. Seli stepped out and followed her gaze to the street number of the apartment building.

"Ib," she said, smiling slyly, "Are you trying to memorize it?"

"No," Ib answered curtly, turning back toward the street.

"Liar," Seli teased, pushing her a little. Ib tried to frown, but a grin came out instead, "You wanna make sure you know where he lives so you can visit," Seli concluded. Ib turned a little red at that statement, looking to the side.

"It's just a good idea for someone to check on him, that's all," Ib muttered. Seli arched an eyebrow at her and leaned back against the wall once again.

"Let's just hope the sixth time's the charm," she sighed as her stomach rumbled.

As it would turn out, the sixth time was indeed the charm. Garry had emerged from the apartment with a huge grin and a double thumbs-up after successfully landing an apartment on the fifth floor. #515, to be precise. He insisted on taking the two of them out to lunch for their trouble, and Seli had suggested a small restaurant nearby. From what she had heard, it was pretty good.

"Man, this feels so…weird," Garry said, looking around while taking a bite out of his sandwich, "Like I've been here before,"

"Maybe you have," Seli offered, her voice garbled by the large bite she had taken from her lunch, "I mean, maybe you just forgot,"

Garry paused, frowning thoughtfully.

"Maybe," he managed, turning to Ib and smiling, "How's yours, Ib?"

"It's good," she answered cheerily as an elderly couple passed by.

"…amazing how things change, isn't it?" the man stated.

"Yes, I remember how you used to take me here for macarons. Such a shame that nice little place went out of business…" his wife answered, shaking her head as the two of them shuffled toward the back of the restaurant.

Ib looked over at Garry as a loud clattering sound caught her attention. He had knocked his water glass over, and had clumsily set it back upright. Ib frowned; she didn't like how pale he looked.

"Whoa, Garry, pay attention," Seli scolded playfully, but her expression quickly turned more serious as she looked at him. He was staring intently down at the table, eyes wide.

"Garry?" Ib ventured, "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching over and touching his arm. He recoiled as if she'd smacked him.

"I-Ib!" he blurted, "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, blushing a little. Seli looked over at Ib worriedly, but Ib remained silent. After a moment's pause, he spoke again.

"I _have _been here before," he sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly, "This place used to be a café,"

It was Ib's turn to turn pale then.

"_Have you heard of macarons? They're these pastries shaped like hamburgers…"_

"The macarons," she blurted. Garry looked up at her, smiling lopsidedly.

"Yeah, I promised I'd take you here to get them," he said glumly, "Sorry, Ib,"

"_So, uh, if we get out of here, could we go there together? No, wait. We WILL be going there! And we WILL get out! I promise!"_

"It's okay," Ib said quietly, setting what was left of her sandwich down. Déjà vu from the painting world had a tendency to ruin her appetite, it seemed.

"…so…you guys are okay, right?" Seli asked uncertainly after a moment's pause. Garry and Ib exchanged confused glances in response.

"Huh?" Garry asked.

"Well you're both acting like something was wrong…so I'm just checking…" Seli continued uneasily. She looked like she was ready to bolt, Ib noted.

"Oh no, nothing's wrong," Ib answered, shaking her head, "It's just…when we were in that painting, Garry had said he would take me out for macarons once we escaped,"

"_Oh_ so this was the macaron place," Seli deduced, sounding relieved.

"Sorry if I worried you, Seli," Garry apologized, setting the crust of his sandwich down.

"No, it's fine," Seli said with a nervous laugh, "So," she paused, taking a sip of water, "You've got an apartment. Now what?"

"Find a job, I suppose," Garry answered with a shrug, "I'll have to start looking pretty soon,"

"Maybe we can help," Ib offered, "I know there's got to be some 'help wanted' signs around somewhere-"

"You've already helped me out tons, Ib, really," Garry interrupted with a laugh, "I'll take it from here. Thanks for the offer, though,"

Rather awkward silence ensued, and Seli suddenly became very interested in her cell phone she had fished out of her pocket.

"Hey, that reminds me," Ib blurted suddenly, "Do you have a phone?"

Garry blinked a couple of times, turning out the pockets of his tattered gray jacket.

"Guess I left it at my old place," he said glumly, frowning, "I'll go find a new one,"

"Make sure you do, so I can call you," Ib said quickly. She immediately turned scarlet, put her head down, and pretended to be looking for her own cell phone in her pocket. What was the _matter_ with her?

"Yeah, definitely!" Garry answered cheerily, much to Ib's surprise. She looked up at him as he grinned shyly at her.

"I mean, you know, so we can stay in touch and all…" he mumbled, clearing his throat and reaching for his half-spilled glass of water, "Maybe find another café that sells macarons…"

"Definitely," Ib answered with a smile.

* * *

To call Garry's new apartment a fixer upper was a bit of an understatement, he decided upon walking in after making sure the girls got back to Seli's house okay. The place looked like it hadn't been lived in for months.

"Home sweet home," he mumbled as he shut the door behind him and slid the chain lock into place. The landlord had been kind enough to make sure the place was furnished, though Garry was fairly certain the chair facing the grimy window in his living room had mold growing on it.

"Ugh," he grimaced as a spider skittered across the carpet and disappeared beneath the sofa, "Oh, well that's just _super_," he muttered, placing the bag of groceries he had brought with him on his dusty kitchen table. He looked up at the clock on his stove—7:14 pm, it said.

"Let's do this," he said to himself, unloading cleaning supplies from the grocery bag and brandishing them like weapons.

Garry flopped onto his sofa two and a half hours later, exhausted. The place looked better now, he was proud to say, and he had located and subsequently smashed the hell out of that spider from earlier.

He yawned, stretching and grabbing the TV remote from the coffee table. He turned the TV on, flipping through the channels absently until settling on a news broadcast.

"…yesterday's arson case at the art gallery downtown," the news anchor drawled. Garry leaned forward, listening intently.

"Although there are no further leads on the two suspects fleeing the gallery on the security footage, another bizarre piece of evidence has arisen," he continued as the screen cut to the surveillance footage of himself and Ib dashing out the front door. His stomach jolted unpleasantly.

"After they pass through, it appears as though another figure emerges hours later," the anchorman continued. Garry leaned forward even more, squinting to make out the grainy footage. After a few seconds, a dark blob scooted past the camera and out of sight.

"What the hell…?" Garry mumbled, finding himself rising out of his seat and crouching in front of the screen.

"We've slowed the footage down so the figure is more visible," the anchorman announced as the screen showed a slower version of what Garry had just watched, "Upon closer inspection, it appears to be some kind of small animal, although authorities are uncertain-"

Garry leapt up, watching whatever the thing was slowly creep into the frame and then slide out of the view of the camera. It was small—smaller than a cat or something, (though not by much, Garry figured). Its head appeared to be covered in thick fur, though its body didn't appear to be. It almost looked like it was wearing some kind of fabric on its back-

"Holy shit," he stated, backing up into the sofa. His heart was pounding, threatening to leap out of his chest.

It couldn't be. It just…couldn't.

"…investigation is ongoing. If anyone has information regarding this case, please contact the local authorities…"

Garry sped into the kitchen and rummaged through the grocery bag, tearing it in the process.

"Finally," he breathed gratefully as he grasped the pack of cigarettes, then the lighter. He put a cigarette in his mouth and hurriedly flicked the lighter. He had never been so glad to see that little flame come to life. He was equally grateful that his fake ID hadn't disappeared into the painting world somewhere. He inhaled deeply, taking a long dreg. It had been two weeks since his last cigarette—well, not counting the five years. He exhaled, then hurriedly drew another long breath of smoke. God, it felt good. He had been meaning to quit—hence the two week mark. He had taken to eating hard candy before the incident at the gallery to take the edge off, but…hell, if he didn't deserve a cigarette after what he'd been through, he didn't know when he would.

He puffed out a plume of smoke, turning to face the TV again. They were already covering another news story, but Garry's head was still buzzing.

That figure. That…thing crawling out of the gallery. It almost looked like…

"_Play with me."_

Garry shuddered, taking another puff on the cigarette and holding it. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down. That thing had looked just like one of those freaky blue dolls from the painting world.

Mary's dolls.

But Mary was dead. Ib had destroyed her—twice, now. There was just no way.

"It was some kind of cat or rat or something," he mumbled, returning to the cigarette once again. It suddenly occurred to him that he might not be able to smoke in his apartment; the last thing he needed was to get kicked out already. He threw open the window at the far end of his living room and leaned out of it. It was a nice evening, he decided, with a light breeze tossing his freshly-dyed bangs as he smoked. The view wasn't the greatest—his room overlooked the crowded street below, bustling with cars.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he was losing it. He and Ib had gone through some awful stuff back at the art gallery…maybe it was just starting to get to him. That thing _wasn't _a doll. It couldn't be. It was over now, and he needed to get a grip. And, he noted as he yawned loudly, he needed some sleep.

He finished his cigarette and closed the window; it was time to turn in for the night.

* * *

**Thanks for taking the time to read! ^_^**

**In this universe, people have purple hair, because that would be awesome. My writing kind of took a dark turn at the beginning of this chapter-sorry about that. I wanted to write something about the origin on Garry's jacket, and this is what happened.**


	9. Chapter 9

"Right away, sir," Garry said to the man at the adjacent table, nodding and heading in the direction of the kitchen. The job as a busboy at a diner downtown wasn't paying much, but it was enough to cover the rent for now. He had applied for several part-time jobs to cover expenses for the GED program (at another school, unfortunately; he didn't feel like explaining where the hell he had disappeared to for the last five years to the other one), but nobody had gotten back to him yet.

"Here you are," he said to the customer as he handed him a glass of water.

"Thank you, young man," the man said, brandishing a pill from his shirt pocket and popping it into his mouth, "You're new around here, aren't you?" he asked as he took a swig of water.

"Yeah, it's only my second week here," Garry answered, a bit perplexed at the man's question.

"Your parents just move here?" the man asked kindly. Garry frowned, returning to his task of clearing the adjacent table.

"No, I'm on my own, sir," he answered mechanically, swiping the silverware into the bus box he was carrying.

"Is that right…?" the man said thoughtfully, "This job…gonna cover everything?"

Garry froze, turning to look at the man. He wasn't sure what to say. He typically wasn't one to lie, but this conversation seemed a bit bizarre.

"Take that as a 'no,' then," the man deduced, setting his water glass down on the table and surveying Garry thoughtfully. "Tell you what: if you're looking for work, a friend of mine owns an art shop a few blocks from here. He's been looking for someone to help stock shelves and stuff, but all the folks that apply don't strike him as...uh, trustworthy,"

"And I do?" Garry blurted, hardly believing what he was hearing. To his surprise, the man chuckled.

"I used to be recruiter for a pretty major company, son," the man answered, "I've been screening people for over thirty-five years for job positions, and I know an honest person when I see one. So…what do you think?"

"That sounds great, Mister…uh…?" Garry faltered, moving forward to shake his hand.

"Sfumato," the man answered, taking Garry's hand and shaking it firmly.

"Right. Thanks, Mr. Sfumato," Garry blurted gratefully, "What place is it? Where do I sign up?"

* * *

Garry took a long dreg on his cigarette as he headed down the street toward a potential new job. He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. "Chiaroscuro Art Supplies" along with an address was scribbled on it in Mr. Sfumato's tidy handwriting. He could hardly believe his luck, running into a guy who just so happened to know someone hiring for a part-time position.

If he didn't know better, he'd think it was too good to be true.

He placed the paper in his pocket of his work uniform and took another puff of the cigarette. Things were actually working out better than he'd hoped. Ib had met with him for lunch yesterday, which was nice. They still couldn't find a good macaron place, but Garry promised her he'd work on it. He enjoyed talking to her, seeing how she had grown since they had first met. She was taking violin lessons, she told him, and had a recital coming up in a couple of months. Garry hoped he could attend.

He went to take another puff of his cigarette and stopped himself. He stopped walking, staring down at the glowing cigarette in his hand.

"_Garry? What are you doing?" she had asked._

"_Uh…" he stammered, slowly lowering the lighter and moving to take the cigarette out of his mouth._

"_You know that's bad for you, right? You could die," Ib said worriedly, frowning at him._

"_Well, I mean…I'm trying to quit, but…" he faltered, looking at her expression. She genuinely looked worried; her big crimson eyes were strained around the edges, her lips turned down in a frown._

_He sighed, putting the cigarette out with his foot._

"_Okay, Ib, I quit," he announced with a shrug._

"_You mean it?" Ib asked excitedly._

"_Yeah," he answered with a grin, "But we've gotta make a stop at the grocery store and pick up some hard candy,"_

Garry smiled sadly, taking one last forlorn look at the cigarette smoldering in-between his fingers before stomping it out on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Hello?" he called as he stepped through the doorway. The art supply place was poorly lit, Garry noted, not to mention empty. Sure, the shelves were full enough…but where were the customers?

"Hello?" he repeated, shoving his hands into his pockets as he perused the aisles. The place was quite large, like an old warehouse of some sort. He shivered, looking up at the shelves stacked with drawing paper of several varieties. All of them were covered in a thin film of dust.

"Can I help you with something?" a rather nasally voice inquired from behind him. Garry nearly jumped through the ceiling, emitting an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the source of the voice chuckled, pushing his thick spectacles back onto his pointy nose, "I'm the owner of this place…can I help you?"

"Oh, uh, no—I mean yes!" Garry stumbled, heat rising in his cheeks over his shriek a moment ago. He hated how he did that; it made him sound like a girl.

"I'm looking for work, Sir," he managed finally, nodding politely down at the shop owner. He was fairly short; Garry dwarfed him by nearly a foot. He was an older gentlemen, based on the gray hair, although the light in his pale blue eyes made him look younger.

"Oh?" the man asked, raising his gray eyebrows, "And how would you know that? There's no sign out front that says anything about a job opening," he pointed out.

"Well, I have a part-time job at the diner a few blocks over, and Mr. Sfumato told me-"

"Ah, that explains it," the owner laughed, shaking his head, "Leave it to Sal to run my business for me,"

Garry hesitated, not sure what that meant. Was he angry?

"So, uh…?" the owner hesitated, fishing for a name.

"Garry," he answered.

"Garry," the man repeated with a grin, "You're looking for two jobs? Don't you think that's a bit too much for a young man like yourself to handle, with school and all? I can't have my employees running off and shirking their duties,"

"You won't have to worry about that with me, Sir, I assure you," Garry explained, "I'm living by myself, so I need two jobs to pay rent…and go to school," Garry flinched; why had he said that?

"You aren't in school now?" the man asked, cocking his head to the side and studying Garry thoughtfully. Garry resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze.

"No, Sir, I…" he hesitated, deciding that the truth was probably the best way to go with this one, "I left home and dropped out," he continued, looking down at his feet, "I want to get a GED, but I need another job to pay for it," he finished, swallowing nervously. It sounded worse every time he said it, like he was some kind of bum. Still, he reminded himself, anything was better than living with Shawn. Hell, anything was.

The man was silent for a few moments, probably contemplating—Garry was too nervous to look back up at him. He settled for staring at the lower shelf next to him. It was stacked with boxes of colored pencils. High quality ones, Garry noted, like the ones professionals use-

"Well, Garry, if you want a job here, you got it," the owner said finally. Garry snapped to attention, looking up at him in surprise.

"You mean it?" he blurted, hardly believing what he had heard. To his relief, the man nodded.

"Sal wouldn't send anybody my way without a good reason. You seem like an okay kid," he explained, extending his hand out, "I'm Andrew. Andrew Chiaroscuro. Welcome aboard," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Chiaroscuro," Garry said excitedly as he shook the man's hand.

"Andrew, son. It's Andrew. 'Mr. Chiaroscuro' makes me sound like some old guy," Andrew corrected, waving his hand and turning to head down the aisle. "Come on, I'll show you the layout," he said, gesturing for Garry to follow him.

* * *

"This place is huge!" Garry exclaimed as Andrew led him around the massive warehouse, pointing out where different supplies were located.

"Yeah, it's a pretty good size," Andrew chuckled, "Makes it easier for me to keep the prices down since I don't need to pay for storage,"

"Forgive me, Andrew, but…" Garry hesitated.

"Where is everybody?" Andrew finished for him, grinning lopsidedly.

"…yeah," Garry said, shrugging, "It just seems like a place this size would be sure to draw some attention from customers,"

"It used to," Andrew sighed, running a hand through his unruly gray hair, "Back when people actually cared about art,"

Garry was quiet for a time, walking silently alongside his new boss as they headed toward the back of the warehouse. It seemed to go on forever, displaying rows upon rows of art supplies. A few faded signs pointed out different sections in the dim haze of the lights.

"Oh, and there's the bathroom," Andrew pointed out, gesturing toward a doorway toward the left, "And my office is over there," he said, waving at another door that was partially open. Garry paused, peering through it. The interior was very colorful, and seemed to be the only well-lit place in the entire building. Other than that, he couldn't make anything out.

"Garry? You there?" Andrew asked flatly from his right.

"S-sorry!" Garry spluttered, whirling toward him, "I just got distracted…there's a lot to look at in here,"

"That's for certain," Andrew sighed, "I think I'm gonna start you out with reorganizing some of this stuff…you know, rearranging the shelves,"

"Sure," Garry said, "when do you want me to start?"

"This time tomorrow?" Andrew asked.

"Sounds like a plan," Garry answered cheerily as they made their way back toward the front of the store.

* * *

Garry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking up at the newly organized (and dusted) shelf proudly. Finally—the last one. He had brought some of the more interesting (at least he thought so) items toward the front of the store, like those professional colored pencils he'd spotted last week. He had also managed to convince Andrew that the place needed more lights.

"Done already?" Andrew asked as he walked in from the back of the store.

"Yessir," Garry answered, turning to grin at him, "I'm on a roll,"

"I guess so," Andrew said, chuckling, "Looks like I'll have to come up with more stuff for you to do…" he trailed off, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "How about these?" he asked as he turned toward one of the old, faded signs saying _'Brushes_.' "These signs could do with some fixing up. I have some paints open in the back, in the storage room next to my office. Spruce 'em up for me, okay?" he said as he shuffled toward the front door of the shop.

"Sure thing," Garry answered, "Eh…where are you going?" he added uncertainly.

"To get those lights," Andrew answered, "Saves money if I go pick 'em up myself rather than have 'em delivered. You mind the store until I get back,"

"O-okay," Garry answered shakily, though he wasn't sure why. There were no customers, for God's sake—nothing to be worried over. He watched Andrew walk outside, then turned back toward the '_Brushes_' sign. He looked it over, taking in the intricate border around the sign. It was very well done, with intertwining vines climbing up the sides of the sign and cascading over the '_Brushes_' label. It must have been colorful at one point, Garry thought, but had been left to fade over time.

"Wonder who painted them?" he thought aloud, stretching. God, he was tired. But, he thought to himself, it was a good tired. He was one paycheck closer to getting that GED and starting to really live his life. His life without cigarettes.

He frowned, fishing for another hard candy from his pocket to stave off the nicotine withdrawal. One week clean, he was proud to say, though he had to fight to hold his tongue when dealing with people at work. He had been positively miserable that second day—good thing it was a day he had off, or he probably would have killed someone.

"Crap," he sighed, finding his pockets empty. He would just have to restock them on the way home. Maybe lemon flavored this time?

He opened the door to the storage closet, the hinges groaning in protest as he pried the door open and flicked on a naked light bulb suspended from the ceiling. Sure enough, there were open tubes of paint laid out on a shelf within. Garry grabbed an armful of them, along with a couple of brushes and a palette before turning the light back off. He closed the door behind him with his foot, turning to walk back toward the front of the store.

Garry paused, eyeing the door to Andrew's office. A sliver of light peeked out from beneath the closed door, spilling out onto the concrete floor at his feet. He hesitated, turning toward the front of the store with anticipation.

He really shouldn't look; it wasn't his business. It was Andrew's office, and the last thing he needed to do was get himself fired after not even two weeks on the job.

He turned around and took a few steps toward the front of the store, then stopped as he heard a tiny clicking sound.

"Huh?" he asked, whirling around. He looked suspiciously at the door, which stared innocently back at him. He frowned, putting the paints down on an adjacent shelf of paint cans and slowly approaching Andrew's office. If somebody was in there, it was his responsibility to make sure nothing was stolen, so he HAD to look…right?

He swallowed, slowly placing his hand on the door handle and turning. To his surprise, it was unlocked. He drew a deep breath, licking his lips.

"_Here goes nothing..."_ he thought to himself as he abruptly threw the door open. He looked around hurriedly; nothing looked amiss. The office itself was larger than Garry had expected, with a small desk facing the door covered in a heap of paperwork. The walls were painted a bright yellow, with the same intricate artwork Garry noted on the sign from earlier. A small window at the other side of the room trailed evening sunlight across the desk and at Garry's feet.

"Hmph," Garry grunted, shaking his head. What an idiot he was; there was nothing in there—

He paused as he noted a second door to the right. He slowly approached, turning the handle slowly—again, unlocked—and entered the small space. It was also a bright shade of yellow, but was filled with paintings and easels, covered in dusty sheets.

"What's this?" he asked, tugging on one of the sheets and exposing one of the paintings. He coughed, wafting the cloud of dust away as he removed the sheet. The painting was of a woman with very long, very dark hair. She was smiling from her perch atop a boulder overlooking the sea. A red ribbon tied her hair back as she smiled, her bright green eyes shining from the canvas.

Garry knelt closer to the painting, inspecting it closely. "ARC '79" was written in loopy cursive at the bottom right hand corner of the portrait.

"No way," Garry blurted, "Andrew painted this?"

It certainly seemed that way, but who was she? Maybe his wife?

Garry smiled, carefully covering the portrait back up and uncovering another one to the left.

He gasped, feeling his heart race. A very familiar woman in a blue dress smiled at him from her portrait, her arms crossed over her abdomen elegantly.

"N-no…" he breathed, taking a step backward in horror.

"_The women here love playing 'Loves Me, Loves Me Not…'"_

"Oh God…no…" he managed, unable to tear his gaze from her piercing blue eyes.

_Running running through the halls falling down oh God she has my rose she has my rose—_

Garry rushed forward and threw the sheet back over the painting, gasping for breath. God, his heart was pounding. "The Lady in Blue," she had been called. The Lady in Blue…

_Garry ducked into the alcove, panting for breath. Those things had been chasing him—like statues, only they were missing their heads. He shuddered, turning and looking at his surroundings. It was poorly lit, though he thought he saw something move to his left._

_He gulped; something glinted at him, like a pane of glass. Another painting? Garry took a cautious step forward, squinting to get a better look. It was indeed a painting, one of a pretty brunette woman in a blue dress. "Lady in Blue" the plaque beneath the portrait read. Garry frowned, heading slowly back out into the hallway. He had only taken a step forward as a peal of shattering glass exploded from behind him. He whirled around in time to see the Lady in Blue crawling toward him, gnashing her teeth as she dragged her frame across the carpet._

_Garry screamed, throwing himself out of the alcove and running for his life. The Lady in Blue was right behind him, clambering toward him and growling. Garry stole a look over his shoulder; she was gaining on him. He cried out as he tripped over something and landed flat on his face. Before he could clamber to his feet, the Lady in Blue was on top of him, tearing at his hair and face and ripping the blue rose from his grasp. _

"_NO!" he cried, lunging forward as the portrait viciously ripped two petals from the rose at once. Garry screamed, writhing in agony as searing pain ran up his side and into his head. He collapsed onto the carpet in a heap as the Lady in Blue laughed, a horrible cackling sound, as she scooted back down the hallway, tearing off pieces of his rose as she went. _

_Garry lumbered after her, nearly tripping over a mannequin head that had mysteriously appeared, crying out in pain as each petal plucked from the blue rose opened up a new wound on his body. He clasped a hand to his stomach. To his horror, his palm was instantly coated in blood._

"_No…" he breathed, "…the…rose…"_

_The last thing he felt was the carpet against his face as he lost consciousness._

Garry shuddered, shaking the memory away. That thing was long dead, just like the rest of Guertena's artwork…wasn't it? He paused, looking at the covered portrait with trepidation. He had to know.

Slowly, reluctantly, he peeled the corner of the sheet back, looking for a signature. To his relief, another "ARC" was in the lower right-hand corner. But…why? Why had Andrew copied one of Guertena's works?

Garry bit his lip, wanting nothing more than to leave the room, when another smaller sheet caught his eye. It was draped over a stool, with something that was not a portrait resting on top. Whatever it was, it was small and irregularly-shaped, based on what he could tell.

He gulped, stretching his arm out and grabbing the sheet with his hand. He gently pulled the material off of the stool—

A pair of large red eyes stared back at him, grinning from a dark blue face surrounded by a mop of messy black hair.

Garry shrieked, staggering backward and landing on his rear. He scrambled to his feet and dashed out of Andrew's office, his heart pounding in his ribcage. He backed away from the open door, gasping for breath.

To his horror, a shuffling sound came from within the office.

Garry could only watch in terror, mesmerized, as Mary's doll slowly dragged itself across the floor, its tiny figure casting a long shadow onto the floor of the warehouse.

"Play with me," it said in a shrill voice, "Play with meeeeee…"

Garry staggered backward, slamming clumsily into one of the shelves. He looked up as he heard a noise—just in time to see the can of paint tumble from the shelf and plummet right toward him.

* * *

**Author's Notes: "chiaroscuro" and "sfumato" are art techniques. Yes, I'm a dork like that.**


	10. Chapter 10

"Garry? Hey! Garry!" a voice asked from somewhere.

"Mmph…" Garry moaned, slowly opening one eye. Everything was…fuzzy. Blurry.

"Garry? You there?" the voice asked again. It was familiar, somehow.

"Wha…?" Garry managed, prying his other eye open and blinking furiously. Andrew's face swam into view.

"Come on, son, snap out of it," Andrew ordered, tapping Garry's face gently with his hand.

"…Andrew?" he asked slowly, trying to place where he was. He was staring up at what appeared to be the ceiling. But how...?

"Can you sit up?" Andrew asked worriedly.

"Uh…yeah, I think so…" Garry answered hesitantly, allowing Andrew to help him into a sitting position. He instantly regretted it as his head swam. A sharp pang of throbbing pain exploded from the top of his head. Garry hissed, clapping his hands over his head and slamming his eyes shut.

"You've got a nasty bump on your head, there," Andrew explained, putting his hand on Garry's forearm and prying Garry's hands off of his head, "You got clocked by a paint can,"

"Huh?" Garry blurted, looking at Andrew with confusion. Andrew frowned worriedly, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I'm gonna get you a cold towel or something, okay? To take the swelling down," he explained slowly, as if speaking to a child, "You wait here for me, okay?"

"Okay," Garry mumbled, throwing his hands back over his head and closing his eyes.

What? A paint can? It must have fallen from one of the shelves, Garry figured, but…how? What had he been doing?

"_Play with me,"_

"Oh _shit_," Garry hissed, his eyes popping open. He instantly looked toward the door of Andrew's office, expecting to see Mary's doll sitting there laughing at him.

To his surprise, the door was closed.

"What the hell?" he mumbled as Andrew swiftly returned, a stack of moist paper towels in his hand.

"Here we go," he said kindly, handing Garry the paper towels.

"Thanks," Garry said as he pressed them to his head. Andrew was right; he was developing one hell of a goose egg.

"How many fingers?" Andrew demanded, holding up his hand in front of Garry.

"Three," Garry answered correctly.

"Good," Andrew sighed, running his hands through his hair, "What the hell happened?" he asked suddenly, "Did you knock it off the shelf by accident or something?"

"I…" Garry trailed off, frowning. What was he supposed to tell him? _"Well, actually, I was snooping around in your office when this terrifying doll crawled out after me?"_

"Don't remember," Andrew finished for him. Garry nodded as best he could.

Andrew sighed, worry clearly etched in his expression.

"Just be more careful next time, will you?" he said, "You scared the hell outta me," he added quietly.

"Sorry," Garry mumbled. He felt terrible for worrying him like that. Even worse for lying to him.

"No, don't be sorry—accidents happen," Andrew offered kindly, "I'm just glad you're all right. I don't think you have brain damage or anything…though I'm no doctor," he added, faltering, "Maybe I should take you down to the hospital,"

"No!" Garry nearly shouted as a reflex. He hated hospitals. Doctors, too, for that matter.

Andrew gave him a very stern, fatherly look at that point, raising his eyebrows in a "don't argue with me" kind of gesture.

"I…really don't think that's necessary," Garry insisted, "I'll be just fine—really," he continued as he tried to get to his feet and failed miserably.

"Oh yeah, you're definitely going to the hospital," Andrew concluded in a very decisive voice, "Come on, I'll help you up," he said, offering Garry his arm.

* * *

Andrew had driven Garry home after the ER doctor had given him a clean bill of health. Only a minor concussion, thankfully, but he would have some serious pain as the bruise healed. He had been given a prescription for pain to take the edge off, which Garry had accepted gratefully. Andrew gave him the next few days off, telling him to call in when he was recuperated and ready to work again. Garry already had decided he was going to call in for his other job as well, considering the situation.

He flopped onto his couch, exhausted. God, his head was pounding. He popped one of the painkillers into his mouth, swallowing it down and closing his eyes. It was too late now, but first thing in the morning, he was going to make a phone call.

* * *

Ib looked down in surprise as her cell phone went off. It was eight 'o' clock in the morning; almost time for her to go to school. She picked it up, her stomach fluttering nervously as she saw Garry's name flash across the screen.

"Hi Garry," she greeted.

"Hey, Ib," Garry answered rather weakly, Ib thought.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Garry insisted, though Ib wasn't convinced, "It's just…are you free today?"

"I have school until four," Ib answered, even more worried, "It's a Thursday,"

"…oh. Whoops," Garry said with a laugh, "Sorry, Ib—forgot all about that. Silly me. Never mind, then,"

"Wait a minute, don't 'never mind' me," Ib scolded, frowning, "Something's wrong—I can tell,"

Garry was silent on the other end for a moment-thinking, apparently.

"Could we talk after you're through with school, then?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course," Ib said, "Where should I meet you? Are you working?"

"Not today," Garry answered cryptically.

"What?" Ib blurted, instantly suspicious, "I thought you worked late at the diner on Thursdays,"

"I…had an accident yesterday, so I called in," Garry answered reluctantly.

"What?!" Ib blurted. She peered out of her bedroom door, hoping she hadn't disturbed her parents with her outburst. So far so good.

"I'm fine, it's just a bump on the head," Garry insisted, laughing a little.

"You get a concussion?" Ib pried.

"Not a bad one. It's just a lump, really—the doctors in the emergency room said it would be fine after a while…" he trailed off uncertainly. Ib was silent for a moment, displeased.

"I-I swear, Ib, I'm fine. I just…wanted to talk to you about something," Garry added nervously.

"All right then," Ib sighed, "I'll meet you at your apartment after school. That sound okay?"

"I don't want you walking by yourself," Garry pointed out.

"I'll take the bus. I'll be fine, Garry—I walk everywhere by myself for the most part," she insisted, laughing. Yes, that much was true. Her parents were so preoccupied with the divorce lately that they barely had time for her at all.

"All right," Garry sighed after a few moments of silence, "See you after school, then,"

"See you," Ib said as Garry hung up. She hung up as well, frowning worriedly as she headed out the door. She hoped he was okay…he had sounded rather worried himself.

* * *

"You're going _where_?" Seli demanded, raising her eyebrows in that know-it-all gesture of hers.

"To his apartment, Seli—I told you that already," Ib whispered, looking around nervously and hoping nobody overheard. This was embarrassing.

She frowned deeply as Seli giggled, slapping Ib on the upper arm.

"Oh man you are HOT for that guy, aren't you?" she teased, flicking a strand of hair she had dyed electric blue from her eyes.

"He's my _friend_, Seli," Ib insisted, slamming her locker shut and heading for the classroom, "He got a concussion yesterday, and he wanted to talk to me. He sounded…worried,"

"Oh," Seli said, suddenly very serious, "Is he okay?"

"I think so," Ib answered, though she wasn't quite certain of that, "At any rate, I'm going to visit him,"

"And you're telling me because…?" Seli pried as she sat down at her desk next to Ib's. Ib just looked at her.

"Oh no—no. NO." Seli said adamantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Please, Seli, you gotta cover for me," Ib insisted, folding her hands in a pleading gesture, "I can't tell my parents I'm going to visit some guy in his apartment—they'll be furious," Not that they'd notice she was gone to begin with, the thought bitterly, but shoved it aside.

Seli frowned, chewing on her lip nervously and tugging at her necklace.

"Seli, come on…please? You know I'd do the same for you…" Ib begged. She grinned as Seli sighed, hunching her shoulders. She had won.

"Fine!" Seli exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air, "But this is IT, Ib, I mean it,"

"Sure thing," Ib promised, "Thanks, Seli,"

"Don't mention it," Seli grumbled, though Ib caught a smile flicker across her face as she turned away from her to grab a book from under her desk.

Ib sighed, looking longingly out the window. She hoped Garry was all right.

* * *

Ib approached door number 515 with anticipation. Not bad, necessarily—she was certainly excited to see Garry. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if he was more seriously hurt than he'd let on.

She rapped on the door a couple of times, waiting for a response. She held her breath as she heard a click and the door swung open.

"Hey, Ib!" Garry greeted as he appeared in the doorway. Ib chose to ignore how pale he looked.

"Hey Garry," Ib answered enthusiastically, walking into the apartment. It was smaller than she'd imagined, but it wasn't gross or anything. The living room she had walked into was simple, with a coffee table in front of a sofa and an armchair next to the window on the far wall. A television rested on a small table in front of the sofa.

"It's not much, but it works for one person," Garry said as he closed the door behind her, "Thanks for coming, Ib," he added shyly.

"Glad to see you," Ib chimed, smiling at him pleasantly.

"Go on and have a seat," Garry insisted, heading into the kitchen, "You want something to drink?"

"I'll have water, please," Ib answered, taking a seat on the sofa facing the television. It was broadcasting the weather, currently. A portly man was pointing at a green blob of a storm system moving across a map.

"Here ya go," Garry said as he handed her a glass of water and sat on the opposite side of the couch.

"Thanks," Ib said politely, taking the water and looking Garry over carefully. He was a shade paler than she recalled, and his eyes looked a little glassy...maybe from the pain meds? He plopped what looked like an ice pack onto his head, then grinned at her sheepishly.

"It's really not that bad, Ib," he insisted with a grin, "I've just gotta keep icing it, that's all,"

"What happened?" she asked worriedly. Garry's expression suddenly turned very serious as he stared down at the coffee table.

"I got another job," he began after a few tense moments, "At a warehouse that sells art supplies,"

He trailed off, taking a deep breath and adjusting the ice pack on his head before continuing. Ib waited patiently for him to speak.

"The store owner left me in charge of the shop to go pick up lights for the place, and…" he faltered, exhaling, "And I heard a noise in his office in the back of the store. I went inside to investigate,"

He turned, looking at Ib uncertainly.

"Go on," Ib encouraged. Garry nodded a little, sighing.

"When I went inside, there were paintings—I think they're Andrew's," he continued.

"Andrew?" Ib asked, taking a sip of her water.

"Sorry—he's my boss," Garry explained with a wave, "I think he paints; some of his stuff was back there. But, Ib, one of the paintings was…" he faltered, frowning, "Do you remember…the Lady in Blue?"

Ib stiffened, setting her glass down on the coffee table and nodding.

"What about her?" she asked, though deep down she knew the answer.

"Andrew painted her—I saw it," Garry added, shivering involuntarily.

"It didn't…?" Ib trailed off worriedly.

"No, no it didn't jump at me or anything," Garry answered, grinning crookedly and focusing on the coffee table once again, "But it scared the hell outta me, though. I went to leave, when there was this other thing on a stool…it was covered in a sheet,"

He hesitated for several tense moments then, looking over at Ib nervously.

"Ib, did you see that news broadcast?" he asked finally, "The one with the surveillance tape after we left?"

Ib frowned, shaking her head slowly. She had tried to avoid watching the news, actually—it was just too disturbing to see herself on the security footage.

Garry gulped, nodding.

"I see," he said, "Well…something…followed us out of the gallery,"

"W-what?" Ib blurted, her heart racing. _Followed?_

Garry nodded, flipping the ice pack over on top of his head.

"What was it?" Ib asked breathlessly.

"They didn't know for certain," Garry answered, shaking his head, "But it wasn't human, whatever it was,"

"…Mary?" Ib asked hesitantly, feeling her mouth going dry. She took another swig of water to combat it.

"No, I don't think so," Garry answered, shaking his head, "But…you remember her dolls? The blue ones?"

Ib shuddered. Of course she did.

"Well…" Garry trailed off shakily. Ib got to her feet, horrified, as she put two and two together.

"There was a _doll _under the sheet? One of _her_ dolls?" Ib demanded, panicking. There was just no way. It was impossible. The entire portrait world had burnt to the ground. It couldn't be.

"I know it sounds crazy, but I know what I saw," Garry insisted, gesturing for her to sit back down. Ib slowly complied; she felt more like running around the room in circles at the moment than sitting.

"It chased me right out of the room…" Garry trailed off, shaking his head, "I backed up into a shelf and I guess a paint can fell on my head," he said, "Hence this lovely bump," he added, gesturing toward the ice pack with his free hand.

"What happened then? Did it attack you?" Ib asked, wringing her hands nervously.

This couldn't be happening. Not again.

"I don't know," he answered with a shrug, "The next thing I remember is Andrew trying to wake me up and taking me to the hospital. But that doll was real, Ib, just like Mary's. It even spoke,"

Ib felt her blood run cold. Spoke?

"...what did it say?" she managed through the rising panic welling in her chest. Garry hesitated for a moment before answering, looking at Ib sadly.

"'Play with me,'" he answered quietly. Ib fought the urge to shriek.

The ensuing silence was deafening. Thankfully, Garry broke it.

"When I came to, the door was closed, like I had never been in the office to begin with. No doll, either," he said, turning to face Ib, "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," Ib lied, "You're the one with the concussion, remember?" she added with a weak grin.

"Yeah, but…" Garry insisted. Ib cut him off.

"I'm okay—just worried," she said, running her hands through her hair nervously, "What does that mean, though? What does that thing want?"

Garry shook his head.

"I wish I knew," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, "I'm just glad I can tell somebody who doesn't think I'm crazy," he added with a soft grin. Ib smiled back.

"So at any rate…that's what I wanted to tell you about," he said, "Sorry for dragging you out here like this," he added, looking down at the coffee table again.

"It's okay," Ib said, sliding over so she could clap a hand on his shoulder, "I'm glad you told me. You…can't just quit, right?" she added uncertainly, looking up at him. To her dismay, Garry shook his head.

"Not if I want to afford the rent," he grumbled, frowning.

"Well in that case, we'll just have to figure out what your boss has to do with all of this," she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

"Thanks, Ib," Garry said quietly.

"You said he re-painted one of Guertena's pieces, right?" Ib asked; Garry nodded, "Then he's obviously a fan of his work…maybe a student of his technique?"

"Maybe," Garry agreed, adjusting his ice pack once again.

"So…maybe the doll is part of his collection of Guertena's works? Or something?" Ib proposed.

"But how did he get his hands on it?" Garry asked, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully, "And why was it covered up if he treasures it as a collectible?"

Neither one of them seemed to have an appropriate answer for that one.

Ib's stomach grumbled loudly, breaking the silence.

"Nice," Garry said, breaking out into the first genuine laugh that afternoon, "I'm getting hungry myself, actually—how's peanut butter and jelly sound? That's all I have right now, unfortunately," he added glumly, getting up and heading for the kitchen.

"Peanut butter's my favorite," Ib laughed, following him.

They sat on Garry's couch, munching on their sandwiches and talking about this and that—Ib's violin recital fast approaching, her schoolwork, Garry's stories from the diner…eventually, though, the conversation inevitably returned to the doll in the art supply place.

"Wait a minute," Ib blurted suddenly, her mind racing, "If that doll is from the portrait world, and the only way out was for us to fall through your portrait…" she frowned, looking over at Garry, who was paying rapt attention.

"Then it must have jumped out after us?" Garry deduced, frowning, "How'd we miss that?"

"Well, we were both unconscious for a while…maybe it snuck past us and hid somewhere," Ib shrugged, popping the last piece of sandwich into her mouth.

"Sounds reasonable," Garry agreed with a nod, "But who is it, exactly? It's not actually Guertena's work, right? I thought it was Mary's,"

"So did I," Ib sighed, "So why would it be in a gallery devoted to Guertena's artwork?"

"Maybe there's—ow!" Garry hissed, grimacing and adjusting the ice pack on his head gingerly.

"You okay?" Ib asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Garry grumbled, "I think I'm due for another pain pill though,"

"Right," Ib said, getting to her feet, "It's getting a little late anyhow," she added regretfully, looking out the window—it was probably around six or so by now, "I want to be home before it gets dark,"

"All right," Garry said, rising from his chair, "Thanks for coming over, Ib—I really appreciate it,"

"No problem—I'm glad you told me," Ib reiterated, "And I want you to keep me posted on anything unusual you see—and if that doll shows up again you head for the hills, rent or no. Got it?" she added, looking at him sternly.

"Y-yeah," Garry said, grinning, "Got it,"

He walked her over to the door, opening it for her.

"Oh, and Ib…" he blurted as she went to walk out.

"Hm?" Ib asked, looking up at him.

"Uh…" Garry faltered, "Eh, never mind," he said, shaking his head a little and wincing, "It's nothing,"

"…okay," Ib said hesitantly, turning to leave, then changing her mind. She pivoted on her heel and threw her arms around his middle.

"Whoa," he blurted.

"See you soon, okay?" she said, giving his ribs a squeeze and quickly letting go.

"Uh, yeah! Definitely!" Garry squeaked.

"Okay! Bye!" Ib said as she practically ran down the hallway. Her face was on fire; it was probably as red as her eyes.

"Bye!" Garry called after her.

* * *

Ib took a deep breath as she stepped outside.

What was she _doing_? She had never been bold like that. Well, she had hugged him in the portrait world, but that was after she thought he'd completely lost it in the doll room…

She shook her head and grinned; maybe a haunted art gallery had a tendency to change people.

* * *

"Bye!" Garry shouted after Ib as she headed down the corridor. He stood in the open doorway for a few moments like an idiot before his throbbing head reminded him of what he had been doing.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, stepping back into his apartment and clicking the lock. He shuffled into his bedroom and grabbed the orange bottle of pain medication from the ER off of his nightstand. He opened the lid with a loud pop and swallowed one of the small blue pills. He flopped out onto his mattress, minding his head, and closed his eyes. He smiled; he hadn't smiled like that since the last time he had seen Ib, and she certainly hadn't hugged him.

Garry chuckled, allowing sleep to creep in on him.

He hoped he would be able to visit with Ib more often, creepy dolls or no.


	11. Chapter 11

"What the _hell_, man…" Seli murmured as Ib explained what Garry had told her. She was sitting on her bed, cross-legged across from Ib. It was Friday afternoon, and the two of them had met up at Seli's house to study—which wasn't happening. Their textbooks were strewn across the comforter, long forgotten.

"I know...it doesn't make any sense," Ib sighed, running her hands through her bangs, "And those things were created by Mary—at least, we both thought so,"

"Do you think maybe he made it up?" Seli offered weakly. The glare Ib shot her could have killed.

"Don't give me that look," Seli said defensively, extending one of her legs outward and stretching, "I'm just saying: the guy had a concussion the other day, so maybe he thought he saw something that wasn't really…you know, there,"

"No, he was telling the truth. He was really shaken, Seli—I believe him," Ib insisted. Her friend nodded, allowing silence to fill the room for a moment.

"Does…?" Seli faltered nervously, twirling the strand of blue hair around her finger, "Mary can't…come get you, right? Like, what if _she's_ the doll?"

Ib's blood ran cold.

"N-no," she said, shaking her head, "She's...dead. Twice!" she pointed out, noting absently how horrible that sounded.

"Calm down, Ib," Seli comforted, putting her palms out in a gesture of surrender, "I'm just saying…that world you guys were trapped in wasn't exactly following the rules. I mean, you thought you had taken her out before, with the lighter," she paused, collecting herself, "Who's to say that she couldn't have hopped a ride with that doll and climbed out with you and Garry?"

"Like…her soul?" Ib asked reluctantly. This was too much.

"Sure," Seli said with a shrug, "Spirits attach themselves to things all the time,"

Ib snorted.

"What?" Seli demanded, frowning at her.

"Since when are you an expert in the paranormal, Seli?" Ib asked playfully, arching an eyebrow at her. Seli grinned, leaping off of her bed and retrieving a rather thick book from the shelf beside her dresser.

"Since now, thank you very much," she said haughtily, tossing the book onto the bed and climbing back onto the comforter.

"What's this? The Necronomicon?" Ib said flatly as she grabbed the book.

"Funny," Seli answered just as flatly, "It's just a hobby of mine, that's all,"

Ib was quiet for a few moments as she flipped through the pages. It was an encyclopedia of sorts, with topics arranged alphabetically. She stopped suddenly as she came across an image of a smiling little girl. Only thing was, she had no whites in her eyes.

"Ugh, Seli, why are you reading this stuff?" she blurted, tossing the book across the comforter in disgust. The page she had unwittingly turned to remained open.

"Because it's interesting," Seli explained, "Don't you want to know what's going on around us that we can't see? It's fascinating! Here, take a look at this one," she said, pointing at the open book.

"I saw it," Ib said tersely, "It's creepy,"

"'Black-eyed children,'" Seli read aloud, "'Demons who disguise themselves as children. Several encounters have been reported globally, all with the children having a common request: 'Can I come in?'"

Ib fought the urge to shudder.

"What does that have to do with the doll?" Ib demanded, wanting nothing more than to set that stupid book on fire- she hated things like that.

"Nothing, really," Seli shrugged; Ib wanted to smack her, "I'm looking for 'spirit attachments,' actually…I think Mary might have transferred her consciousness into one of her dolls,"

Ib waited for Seli to finish flipping through the book, brooding silently. God, she hated paranormal stuff. It scared her—even Halloween-related events freaked her out to no end, especially after the gallery.

"Here we go," Seli announced, "'Spirit attachments occur when a disembodied spirit becomes bound to an item of significance. The presence of said spirit will travel with the object and perpetuate haunting events.'"

"So Mary's spirit is inside of the doll?" Ib blurted, "How? I saw her catch on fire before Garry and I got out,"

"Not sure…" Seli trailed off, "But it makes sense though, right? You said she wanted nothing more than to come live with you in the real world, right? Maybe she saw this as the only way to do it,"

"But why go after Garry like that, though? And why didn't she try to find me?" Ib faltered at that second question—she felt like throwing up at the idea of rolling over and finding a pair of red eyes staring back at her in the middle of the night.

Ib shuddered, rubbing her arms.

"Maybe she couldn't," Seli offered, "Like, that Andrew guy picked her up so she couldn't escape the warehouse,"

"I guess that makes sense…but…why would anybody want to keep that thing?" Ib asked with a frown.

"Maybe he thought it was one of Guertena's pieces?" Seli asked.

"I doubt it," Ib said, shaking her head, "If he re-created some of Guertena's pieces like Garry says he did, he's a pretty devoted fan. I'm pretty sure he would know a Guertena piece when he saw one,"

Seli sighed, shaking her head.

"Man, how did you get wrapped up in all of this? And why'd you have to drag me into it?" she said flatly, throwing her hands into the air.

"Because you're my best friend," Ib answered with a grin.

"Damn right I am, putting up with this craziness," Seli said, grinning back, "So…how did it go with Garry, anyway?" she added slyly, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Huh?" Ib blurted.

"You know what I'm talking about," Seli pried, folding her arms, "You went to his apartment to see him…alone…with no supervision…"

"Shut up, Seli," Ib hissed, feeling her cheeks reddening. She looked down, only to be met with the paranormal book; Seli had flipped it back to the image of the black-eyed girl. She looked back up quickly; Seli was grinning impishly.

"Oh come on, I'm just asking a simple question," Seli insisted, "What happened? Didja kiss him?"

"No!" Ib shouted defensively, "We just talked!"

Seli looked at her skeptically, arching one eyebrow.

"You're a crappy liar, Ib," she stated.

"I'm telling the truth!" Ib practically shrieked. She hated it when Seli did this.

"Something had to have happened for you to turn red like that—you look like a beet," Seli pointed out.

"I…" Ib faltered, "I hugged him, okay? There. That's it. We talked, I gave him a hug, and I left," she said sternly, cursing the warmth rising in her cheeks.

"Ooooh!" Seli said sarcastically, throwing her hands up, "Oh man you HUGGED? Oh that's just…that is just totally outrageous, really,"

"Well it's true," Ib said, "You said you wanted to know what happened, so I told you. Happy?"

Seli sighed, rolling her eyes.

"You're going to have to step it up if you want to go out with him, Ib," Seli insisted.

"Who says I want to go out with him?" Ib said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest, "I already told you: he's my _friend_,"

"Don't kid yourself-I _know_ you like him," Seli continued, "And, furthermore, I know he likes you back. A lot,"

"…you think so?" Ib squeaked, mentally smacking herself. So much for "he's my friend."

"Definitely. You're both just so damn awkward," Seli explained, "Maybe that means you're a good match. Who knows?" she added with a shrug.

Ib remained quiet, mulling that last statement over.

"At any rate, I hope that doll stays the hell away from here," Seli added, closing the paranormal book with a muffled thump, "I frigging hate dolls—and I don't want anything to do with possessed ones,"

* * *

Garry was jumpy for the next few weeks, creeping around the shelves in the art supply store before walking down the aisles. He wasn't afraid to admit that he was terrified of the place now, ever since that…thing…had emerged from Andrew's office. Still, he needed the money. On the upside, he was enrolled in a GED program and well on his way to graduation—he couldn't wait. Ib would be so proud of him.

Speaking of Ib, they had talked quite often, mostly via text, ever since he had told her about the incident. She even had a theory that Mary was the doll, escaped from the painting world. Garry preferred not to think about that one, but he was grateful for her being honest with him. In a way he felt guilty for worrying her; maybe he should have just kept the incident to himself. But, he reasoned, if he hadn't, he wouldn't have anyone who believed him. He grinned a little, grateful to have a friend like her.

"Nice work, son," Andrew cheered, clapping a hand on Garry's shoulder-Garry jumped a little, "The customers ought to be rolling in soon, eh?"

"Uh…yeah," Garry said absently, noting with a jolt that the door to Andrew's office was ajar. God, he hated it when that sliver of light crept out onto the floor. He was expecting that doll to show up again, a dark silhouette against the bright yellow paint of the office-

He nearly leapt out of his skin as a tiny bell sounded from the front of the shop.

"Told ya!" Andrew exclaimed happily as he shuffled toward the entrance. Garry followed, wanting to put as much distance between him and that office as possible.

"Whoa, lookit the lights!" a familiar voice exclaimed from the front of the store.

"You sent me a good one, Sal," Andrew said cheerily, gesturing toward Garry as he approached.

"Mr. Sfumato," Garry blurted, surprised. He hadn't seen the man since the day he got Garry the job at the art place.

Mr. Sfumato smiled at him, waving.

"Please—it's Sal," he insisted, looking around, "Seems like you've shaped the place up real nice, Garry," he said with an approving nod, "Andrew oughta be rolling in dough soon enough," he teased, walking toward the back of the shop. He and Andrew chatted all along the way, pointing out this and that, discussing paintings and how much time the new signs took to finish. Garry fought the urge to turn around and leave.

He nearly _did_ as Sal and Andrew approached the back of the warehouse.

"Done anything with this room yet?" Sal asked, throwing the door open. Garry's breath caught in his chest.

"Nah, this is just an office," Andrew scoffed playfully, "I won't have many customers back here,"

"Yeah, but look at the artwork you have here," Sal insisted as he walked through the office and into the adjacent room. Garry's heart pounded frantically against his ribs. He didn't even want to go NEAR that room, let alone in it. He gulped as Andrew walked in after him, gesturing for Garry to follow. He did, reluctantly. He scanned the room; no dolls in sight. The curtain on the window above Andrew's desk fluttered delicately in the breeze from outside.

"You've got them all covered up?" Sal blurted incredulously, whirling around to face Andrew.

"W-well I mean, I didn't want them getting all dusty back here-" Andrew spluttered.

"Which is why they should be on display in the shop!" Sal argued, glaring at his friend. Garry's eyebrows twitched upwards; they _were _friends…right?

Andrew sighed, looking at Sal with what could have been fear; Garry wasn't sure.

"Don't you think so, Garry?" Sal asked him with a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Uh…" Garry stammered, watching in horror as Sal flung the sheet off one of the portraits. Garry flinched, taking a step backwards; to his relief, it was the portrait of the dark-haired woman he had seen, the one by the ocean.

"I'm…just not ready, Sal," Andrew said quietly, looking down at the floor. Garry seriously considered leaving at that point, but the look on Sal's face stopped him. Sadness was there, but also…something else.

"Andrew, it's been over a decade since she died," he said softly, "It's time,"

The three of them were silent for a time as Andrew rubbed his temples tiredly.

"Look, I know you miss her, but…she loved art. She probably wouldn't want you to give it up," Sal pressed.

"I'll…I'll think about it, okay?" Andrew said, shaking his head and turning around, "Garry, I think you can call it a day, all right?"

"O-okay," Garry stammered, grateful to be getting the hell out of there. He headed for the exit and stepped out into the street, pausing in front of the shop.

So that was his wife in the painting…or, at least someone special to him. But why was Sal pushing him like that? What kind of friend…?

Garry turned back toward the warehouse as voices caught his attention.

"…can't just stop, you know…"

"Sal?" Garry whispered as he crept alongside the building. The voices were getting louder as he approached a tiny open window. He got onto his tiptoes and peered inside, careful not to be spotted. He was staring down into Andrew's office, and the two men were in the next room over, based on the volume. Garry strained his ears as they continued their conversation.

"…don't think I know that?" Andrew asked, "I just-"

"Just what? Want to go back to before? When Anastasia had just died and this place—and you, for that matter—was a crumbling mess?" Sal demanded. Garry furrowed his brows; he sounded angry.

"I'm doing everything I can to help you out, here, _pal_," Sal continued pointedly, "But you have to hold up your end of the bargain too. We had a deal,"

"I know," Andrew sighed, "Just give me a day to mull it over, okay? Then I'll move them out,"

"All of them?" Sal pried.

"Yes," Andrew answered quietly, sounded defeated.

"Do you still have that one particular piece I asked you to hold onto for me?" Sal asked.

"Yeah, it's…in here somewhere," Andrew answered. Garry felt his blood run cold.

"What do you mean 'in here somewhere?'" Sal demanded, "I told you to keep an eye on it,"

"Well I-the damn thing has a life of its own. Keeps moving," Andrew explained.

"Holy shit," Garry mumbled lowly. They knew? They _knew_ about that doll? What it could do?

And…who was it?

"Ah, here we are," Sal announced as a rustling sound met Garry's ears. "Make sure this thing stays back here, will you? The others can all move out into the store for the…customers…to view," he added cryptically.

"Sure," Andrew said dejectedly, "Was….was that all, Sal? I gotta get home soon…" he trailed off nervously.

"Yes, Andrew, it was. You may leave," Sal said. Garry ducked beneath the window ledge as footsteps announced the two men leaving the office, followed by a small click. Garry swallowed hard, leaning against the wall as his mind raced.

What on earth did Sal want with that doll? And Andrew was keeping it for him? Why?

"Sneaky sneaky," a small voice taunted. Garry leapt upwards, slamming himself against the wall of the next building over and glaring up at the window. To his horror, the peal of tiny giggling met his ears.

"Seeeeecrets…seeeeeeeecretssss…" the voice taunted.

"What are you?" Garry demanded, knowing full well that the doll was sitting below the window ledge.

The giggling intensified, resembling more of a cackle than anything as Garry dashed down the alley and into the next street over, running as fast as he could for the safety of his apartment.

He had to tell Ib.


	12. Chapter 12

Ib was walking home from school when her phone went off in her pocket. She fished it out, realizing with a jolt that Garry's number was on the screen.

"Hello?" Ib said, putting the cell up to her ear.

"Ib!" Garry blurted, breathless, "They know about the doll. That guy who-!"

"Whoa, Garry, slow down," Ib instructed, pausing and leaning against a wall along the sidewalk, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Garry insisted, "But I overheard Andrew and Sal talking and they _know _about that doll!"

"Who's Sal?" Ib asked, her heart racing. Garry exhaled before continuing—he sounded frightened.

"Garry?" Ib asked nervously.

"Remember that guy who got me the job working for Andrew?" he said.

"At the diner?" Ib pried.

"Yeah," Garry answered, "That's Sal,"

"So…he showed up at the art store and…then what?" Ib asked.

"I overheard the two of them talking," Garry continued, "Sal said he wanted to know where Andrew was keeping the doll. Said he was supposed to be holding it for him, I guess. They even talked about how it moves on its own; They _know_ what that thing is,"

"But why…?" Ib trailed off, "They didn't see you, did they?" she added worriedly, chewing on her lip.

"No, no they didn't-I got back to my apartment-don't worry, Ib," Garry added nervously, "Sal said he wanted Andrew to bring the paintings in the back out, too, for whatever reason…like they had made some kind of a pact or something after Andrew's wife died. He sounded angry," he added ominously.

"What would Sal want with the doll? Or the paintings, for that matter?" she wondered aloud, nodding to one of her classmates as he walked past her; he waved. "It doesn't make any sense,"

"I know, but…" Garry trailed off.

"Shit," he said quietly.

"Garry?" Ib asked nervously, "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Garry stammered, "I gotta go…I'll call you later, okay?"

"What?" Ib blurted incredulously as Seli appeared and began walking her way.

"Garry?" Ib demanded as a small clicking sound came from the other end of the line. She stood, frozen for a moment or two before hanging up and placing the phone back in her pocket.

"Talking to your beau?" Seli teased, grinning at her crookedly as she approached. Her expression quickly changed to one of concern as she saw the look on Ib's face. "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"Garry…" Ib trailed off, her mind racing, "He's in trouble-I have to go," she muttered, taking off toward his apartment in an all-out sprint.

* * *

"It doesn't make any sense," Ib said, her voice laced with worry. Garry mentally smacked himself for making her nervous like this. He should have just kept it to himself, at least until he had a better idea of what was going on. What was the matter with him?

"I know, but…" Garry said, trailing off as something caught his eye from the kitchen. He slowly turned from his position at his living room window, squinting into the kitchen. Stupidly, he had left the kitchen light off.

"Shit," he said, cursing his environmentally-conscious attitude. He should have turned every damned light on when he got home, especially after-

"Garry?" Ib asked nervously through his phone, "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Garry lied, taking a cautious step toward the kitchen. He knew he had seen something move. A rat, maybe? He actually found himself hoping that it was.

"I gotta go…I'll call you later, okay?" he added quietly as he clapped the phone shut. He stood still for a moment, trying to keep his breathing to a minimum. Eerie silence answered him, save for the sound of the clock above the stove.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Garry swallowed, gathering his resolve and lumbering into the kitchen at full-speed. He slammed the light switch on the wall, poring over the room anxiously as it was flooded with light.

All that met him was an empty kitchen.

Garry sighed, relieved, and ran his hand through his hair.

"I must be losing it," Garry said aloud, shaking his head. "Need more sleep or something-"

He looked down in horror as he felt something tug on his pantleg.

A pair of large red eyes stared up at him, a jagged grin forming on a dark blue face.

"Play with me," the thing said.

"NO!" Garry shouted, kicking his leg furiously. The doll flew in an arc and landed somewhere next to the stove, giggling hysterically. Garry staggered back into the living room, his heart racing. He fumbled with the chain lock on his door, trying to get it open as the tiny giggling once again erupted in the kitchen behind him.

"Play with me, Garry!" it shouted gleefully, "PLAY! WITH! ME!"

Garry threw the door open with a strangled yelp and stumbled through it, dashing down the corridor toward the stairwell. He grabbed for the door handle for the stairs—only, someone was already pulling it open from the other side.

Garry's eyes widened as Sal stepped through, grinning wickedly.

"Well, well," he taunted as Garry slammed himself into the wall behind him, "It appears we have an eavesdropper in our midst," he added, brandishing what appeared to be a collapsed easel from behind his back.

Garry froze, staring at the object in his hand. He recognized it immediately as one of the items at Andrew's store—he had just taken inventory on the damned things last week. Fifty-two of them were in that warehouse, he thought to himself vaguely as he slowly slid down the wall in the hallway back toward his room. Sal followed him at a leisurely pace, twirling the easel in his hands nonchalantly.

"I don't know why you're making this harder than it needs to be, Garry," Sal sighed as Garry called out for help, "Nobody can hear you, you know," he added tauntingly, "If you just come with me, we can sort this whole thing out-"

"NO!" Garry bellowed, dashing around Sal and making a break for the stairs. He would have made it, were it not for him missing the door handle. The easel came down on the back of his head with a distinct crack.

* * *

"Ib, what are you talking about?!" Seli demanded as she tore off after Ib more toward downtown.

"Garry's in trouble!" Ib blurted as Seli caught up. She grabbed Ib by the wrist and forced her to come to a stop.

"Hold on," Seli coached, looking at her friend sternly. To say that Ib looked distraught would have been an understatement.

"Now tell me: what is going on? What kind of trouble is Garry in?" she asked. Ib drew a deep breath before explaining.

* * *

"WHAT?" Seli practically shrieked as Ib finished her hurried explanation. "You mean those guys know what that thing is?"

"That's why we've got to help him!" Ib insisted, tugging on Seli's arm and breaking into a run again, "Come on!"

"W-wait!" Seli blurted, "What are we going to be able to do?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to try!" Ib shouted back at her as she rounded a corner. "You can turn back if you want," she added quietly.

"You kidding?!" Seli retorted, "I'm not about to let you do something stupid and have to explain to your parents what happened to you!" she added, following Ib closely.

This was crazy.

CRAZY.

"What do you think scared him?" she asked, trying not to focus on the stitch already forming in her ribs, "Do you think it was Mary?"

"I really hope not," Ib answered softly—Seli almost missed it.

"Me too," Seli muttered.

* * *

She was totally out of breath by the time she and Ib arrived at Garry's apartment building.

"What floor?" Seli asked between gasps.

"Fifth," Ib answered, coughing.

"Terrific," Seli spat, hunching over and trying to catch her breath again.

"We gotta hurry—come on!" Ib declared, grabbing Seli's wrist and practically dragging her through the front doors and into the stairwell.

Seli nearly smacked into her as Ib stopped dead at the top of the stairs on the fifth floor.

"What?" Seli wheezed, leaning on the wall of the stairwell for support. When Ib didn't answer, Seli squeezed through the doorway and stole a look down the hall.

She froze; a door at the end of the hallway was flung wide open.

"Is that-?" she managed to get out before Ib broke out into a sprint.

"Wait!" Seli cried, chasing after her.

"Garry?!" Ib shouted, dashing into the empty apartment and throwing the light switch. "Garry?!" she repeated, cautiously walking through the living room and into the kitchen. Seli followed, stealing a look behind them every now and then. She considered closing the front door, but…if something was actually in there, she didn't want to be trapped.

"He's not here," Ib announced, biting her lip nervously.

"You're sure he was here when he called you?" Seli asked as Ib nodded.

Seli paused for a few moments before speaking, tugging at the heart-shaped charm around her neck.

"Do you think…?" she began, clearing her throat nervously. She didn't really want to say it, honestly.

"The art store?" Ib finished for her. Seli nodded.

"It makes sense, right? If his boss and that other guy have something to do with this, that is," Seli babbled, trying not to freak out. What did they want with Garry? Did they…kill him?

"We should check it out," Ib said, nodding resolutely as she headed for the front door.

"W-wait a minute!" Seli blurted, tugging so hard on her necklace that the chain nearly broke, "We should call the police,"

"Seli, we can't," Ib answered after a moment's pause, shaking her head.

"Why not?" Seli demanded, blowing a clump of electric blue and black hair out of her face, "Ib, we may have a _murder _on our hands, here,"

"We don't know that," Ib snapped.

"Yeah, but we don't NOT know that, either," Seli pointed out, "We should just call the cops, and-"

"And tell them what, exactly?" Ib demanded rather hotly, frowning, "That two guys and a haunted doll from a portrait world are after our friend? And they're still looking for the arsonist from the gallery, remember?"

Seli opened her mouth to protest, then closed it.

"Look, Seli, I appreciate you coming with me, but you don't-" Ib began, looking down at the floor.

"Shut up, Ib," Seli interrupted, walking up to Ib and clapping a hand on her shoulder, "I already said I'm coming with you, and you're going to have to deal with it," she said, smiling crookedly.

Ib smiled back.

"Thanks, Seli," she said quietly.

"Let's get going, then," Seli suggested, gesturing toward the door.

* * *

Garry glared at Sal as he walked past the chair Garry was tethered to. He wasn't answering him, and Garry didn't like it. His head was pounding; he had woken up roughly five minutes before in the back of Andrew's store. He was surrounded by Andrew's paintings, hung upon the walls and from the ends of the shelves. There were dozens of them, of assorted sizes and colors, staring down at him from all sides. To his dismay, the Lady in Blue was among them, contentedly smiling at him from Garry's left.

Sal whistled cheerfully as he adjusted the positions of a few of the paintings, stepping back and looking at one of them—Garry recognized it from Guertena's gallery, depicting a cup of coffee next to a slice of cake.

"Nearly ready!" Sal piped, nodding at the adjusted painting and turning back toward Garry.

"Ready for what?" Garry growled, trying to ignore that his head was throbbing in-time with his heart.

Sal chuckled, putting his hands behind his back and beginning to slowly pace around Garry.

"For the creation of my gallery, of course," Sal stated.

Garry snorted.

"Something funny?" Sal demanded flatly from behind him.

"Hate to break it to you, but those paintings are Andrew's, not yours," Garry spat, "Not to mention that they're copyrighted," he added under his breath. God, his head hurt.

"Oh?" Sal said, footsteps announcing him approaching from Garry's right, "Just because Andrew painted them doesn't mean that they're _his_," he said coolly.

Garry frowned, waiting for him to continue.

"I practically own the man," Sal laughed, "after all I did to help his sorry self,"

"What are you talking about?" Garry demanded, clenching his fists and tugging at the ropes restraining him yet again; they didn't budge.

"You know, it's all thanks to you, Garry," Sal continued cryptically, returning to his pacing and swinging his arms nonchalantly, "You were the key that I needed. Well, you and that doll,"

Garry swallowed nervously as Sal walked behind him. Garry fought the urge to shiver, biting down on his lip to keep himself in check.

"What do you want with me?" Garry demanded for the fifth time since he had woken up. Sal laughed, coming around to Garry's right and standing in front of him.

"You and I have been in very…similar situations," Sal stated, cocking an eyebrow at Garry, "You aren't the first victim of Guertena's, you know,"

Garry felt his jaw hit the floor; Sal laughed as he continued to pace around him.

"That Gallery would swallow everyone up, if it could," Sal continued, "Place has a mind of its own, really. It's kind of a pity that you destroyed it," he added, a hint of irritation in his tone.

"Oh, don't get me wrong—I'm _glad _to see it gone," Sal said from behind Garry, "It took so long for me to get out of that hellhole, I thought I'd never escape. But now that world has been destroyed, and a new one is free to take its place,"

Garry looked up at Sal as he walked in front of him, wide-eyed. Sal grinned at him in silence, clearly expecting a response.

"You're insane," Garry managed finally, his voice cracking. To his surprise, Sal burst into a laughing fit.

"Insane?" Sal said between guffaws, "Well, I suppose every genius is a tad insane. Guertena's world was not perfect. _Mine_ will be,"

"By using copies of Guertena's work?" Garry blurted, trying to process what the man was saying, "Why the hell would you want to re-create that nightmare?!" he shouted.

"Because," Sal hissed, stepping closer to Garry and stooping so they were face-to-face, "I will do it _right_,"

"So what? You tricked Andrew into copying Guertena's paintings so you could 'create' your own haunted art gallery?" Garry retorted angrily, "That's stupid. Why didn't you just do them yourself? Why drag him into all of this?"

Sal was quiet for a moment, staring at Garry with what could have been curiosity as he stepped even closer toward him, so their noses were nearly touching. Garry fought the urge to flinch.

"You understand how Guertena's works came to life, yes? How he poured his very soul into them, giving them breath?" Sal said quietly, waiting for Garry to respond. Garry nodded slowly.

"Well, to be frank…" Sal whispered, leaning so he was next to Garry's ear, "I don't _have_ a soul to give," he added darkly. Garry fought the urge to shriek as he felt the blood drain from his face. Sal stood up as footsteps approached from behind the shelves.

"Ah, good, Andrew, you've brought the other component," Sal said happily, clapping his hands. Andrew stepped forward, avoiding looking at Garry as he handed Mary's doll to Sal. He accepted it, taking it in both hands and cradling it to his chest like a baby.

"You're…" Garry faltered, causing Sal to turn around and look at him, "You're a painting," he breathed, hardly believing his own words. To his horror, Sal laughed. A mirthless, high-pitched cackle that made Garry's skin crawl.

"Well, I _was_, until I escaped from the painting world," Sal answered, clearly pleased to see that Garry had caught on so quickly, "After that, I started a new life here, as a living, breathing human being," he continued, pointing his thumb into his chest.

"Then you took someone else's place," Garry snapped, his mind racing. He had to get out of there.

"But of course," Sal said matter-of-factly, dragging a stool over and setting it in front of Garry, "Those are the rules—you know that,"

Garry gulped as he tried to process what he was hearing. He looked over his shoulder, stealing a glance at Andrew. The man was standing beside the painting of the woman by the sea, staring into it forlornly.

"Andrew!" Garry shouted. The man physically flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"Come on, you don't want to help him," Garry coached, trying to keep his voice from cracking and failing, "He's not even human—he's not real!"

To his horror, Andrew remained silent. From his left, Sal chuckled.

"Go ahead, Andrew—tell him," Sal ordered. Garry slowly turned back toward Andrew. The man didn't speak for several tense moments, staring into the portrait quietly.

"I…" he faltered, looking down at the floor.

"Go on, Andrew," Sal prodded, a definitive sharpness to his tone this time.

"I'm…I'm so sorry, Garry," Andrew squeaked, slowly turning to face him. He looked tired, his face contorted with worry.

"But why?" Garry asked quietly, defeated.

"I just…want to see her again. I _need_ to. I need to hold her again-" he faltered, his sentence collapsing into a wracking sob. Andrew turned back toward the portrait of his late wife, his head in his hands as he wept.

Garry resisted the urge to cry himself as an overwhelming feeling of dread swept over him.

"Now do you see?" Sal taunted, placing the doll on the stool in front of Garry, "Andrew works for me. And now, so do you," he added haughtily, "Now, before we begin, is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes," Garry said hollowly, looking down at his knees, "Why do you need me?"

"Ah, yes," Sal said, "The most important question. I need you, my dear boy, because you are the link between Guertena's old world and this one. Just like this doll here, you emerged from the portrait world," he explained, probably gesturing toward the doll in the process. Garry didn't bother looking up.

"How did you know?" Garry asked quietly.

"Oh, believe me, I _know_," Sal snorted, "The natives of Guertena's Fabricated World recognize one of their fellow prisoners then they see them. Of course, it helped that you were plastered all over the local news," he added flatly.

"But-" Garry protested.

"No matter how you try to change your appearance, you will always carry that place and its memories with you," Sal interrupted, "It's like blood in the water, and folks like me are the sharks," he added softly, menacingly. Garry slammed his eyes shut, trying to stave off the imminent panic. His heart was racing, and he was trapped. There was no way out. He was going to die here, in this place—either that or trapped in that Gallery again, slumped against the wall with his head on his chest—

He looked up as Sal burst out laughing. He was standing between Garry and Mary's doll, arms raised to the ceiling as the entire room began to spin. Garry screamed as he felt the floor collapse beneath him, sending him plunging into nothing.


	13. Chapter 13

Warning: violence/gore in this chapter

* * *

Ib slowly picked herself up off the floor. She winced, clutching a hand to her arm where she had hit the ground. She sat up and found Seli lying a few feet away.

"Seli?" she called, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great," Seli grumbled sarcastically, joining Ib in sitting on her knees, "What just happened?"

Ib frowned, shaking her head and looking around. The last thing she remembered was sneaking through the front door of the art store, when…

"No," she breathed, panic seizing her and filling her chest.

She was staring down a red corridor, with a ceiling lined in red tiles.

"NO! NO!" she cried hysterically, clawing at the carpet. This wasn't happening.

Not again.

* * *

"Ib!" Seli shouted as she dashed to her side, "What's wrong?" she asked worriedly, but her friend wasn't listening. Her crimson eyes were glazed over as she stared down the hallway, screaming "NO!" at the top of her lungs over and over again.

"IB!" Seli shouted, louder this time. Ib didn't seem to hear her as she tore chunks of red fabric from the carpet beneath her outstretched hands.

"IB, SNAP OUT OF IT!" Seli cried, smacking her friend across the face with all of her might. To her relief, Ib went silent. She blinked up at Seli as if seeing her for the first time, tilting her head to the side in thought.

"Seli?" she asked, "What are you doing?" she added, slowly bringing a hand up to her face where Seli had left a nice hand-shaped red mark.

Ib's expression suddenly turned to one of anger as she abruptly slapped Seli in the face.

"OW!" Seli shouted, clapping a hand to her now very red cheek, "What was that for?!"

"You hit me first," Ib said matter-of-factly, frowning.

"Yeah, because you were hysterical!" Seli blurted angrily.

"…I was?" Ib asked, her expression fading from anger into worry.

"Yeah, you were screaming, and…" Seli trailed off, gesturing toward the floor in front of her. Ib looked down, seeming surprised by the claw marks in the carpet.

"I…" she faltered, biting her lip and looking up at Seli.

"It's okay now," Seli comforted, putting her hands on Ib's shoulders, "You're okay now. You just got a little scared, that's all,"

Ib drew a deep breath, then nodded.

"So…this is…" Seli pried, though she feared she already knew the answer.

"The art gallery," Ib finished for her, "We're in the portrait world,"

"But how?" Seli breathed, looking up at the ceiling nervously, "You burned the whole thing down,"

"No…this place feels different," Ib said cryptically, standing up and looking around. Her gaze froze as she looked behind Seli.

"W-what?" Seli blurted, leaping up and dashing behind Ib, "What is it?!"

She blinked; a teal blue vase was sitting on a table, holding two roses.

"What…? What's this about?" Seli asked, walking toward the table and inspecting the flowers. A red rose and a vibrant orange one were elegantly sitting side-by-side. She found herself attracted to the orange one. It was the most beautiful rose she had ever seen—not to mention the color. Orange had always been her favorite color, save for electric blue. It couldn't hurt anything to pick it up, right…?

"The orange one's yours," Ib said gloomily from behind her. Seli blinked; her hand was outstretched, reaching for the orange blossom.

Seli gulped. She didn't remember actually trying to pick the flower up, as if her hand had moved on its own.

"How do you know?" Seli asked, watching as Ib took the red rose in her hand and looked down at it sadly.

"Because this one's mine," she answered quietly, staring into the rose, "These flowers represent your life in the portrait world,"

"'Your _life_?'" Seli repeated as she took the orange blossom in her hands and twirled it. God, it was pretty.

"You and the rose are united. Know the weight of your own life," Ib responded mechanically. It sounded as if she was quoting someone.

"Wait," Seli blurted, "Hold on. You're saying that if this thing dies-" she began, gesturing to the flower in her hand, "-then…_I_ die?"

To her horror, Ib nodded.

"H-how do you know that?" Seli asked shakily, suddenly wanting very much to put that orange rose right back into the vase.

"Because that's what happened to Garry," Ib said, looking up at Seli sadly, "Mary tore all of the petals off his rose, and he…"

"Whoa," Seli interrupted, "Whoa, what are you saying, here? Garry was DEAD?" she practically shrieked. Her head was starting to hurt.

"That's how he became a painting," Ib answered, "Guertena stuck one of the petals back on his rose to keep him alive enough to be his new work of art—said he couldn't work with someone with no soul," she added quietly, shivering a little.

"Holy shit," Seli swore, looking around nervously, "So what now? How do we get out?"

"If this is like the old portrait world, we have to find one in particular called 'Fabricated World,'" Ib explained, "It's the only way out of here,"

"That's how you escaped with Garry?" Seli prodded, her voice quivering. Ib shook her head.

"No, that's how I escaped when I was nine," she elaborated, drawing a deep breath, "The second time I managed to destroy Guertena. I guess Garry and I got lucky,"

"Terrific," Seli sighed, holding her orange rose close to her heart, "Now what? Find that painting?"

"Not until we find Garry," Ib said resolutely, heading down the corridor, "I think he ought to be down here somewhere," she added.

"Wait, you know where he is?" Seli asked, dashing to catch up to her.

Ib nodded, gesturing for Seli to follow.

* * *

Garry opened his eyes, blinking a few times to take away the blurriness. He was staring through a window, into a red corridor.

"What the hell…?" he mumbled, looking around. He was leaning against a navy blue wall, sitting on the floor. But he had just been in the art store, hadn't he?

He leapt to his feet, adrenaline coursing through him as he remembered.

Sal and Andrew. The paintings.

That doll.

"Shit," he hissed, looking around and heading down the blue hallway he was in.

To his surprise, he was halted by something hard.

"What…a wall?" he blurted, staring at what he could only describe as an invisible barrier blocking his path. He pressed his hands against it; sure enough, his hands touched something cool and solid.

The panic began setting in then as Garry frantically dashed in the opposite direction, only to be met with yet another wall.

He froze; he knew this place, this room.

"No," he whispered, his heart plummeting into his stomach.

"_If you need me, I'll come running…"_

Garry dashed over toward the window and pounded his fists on it with all of his might, finally breaking through in a peal of shattering glass. He tumbled out of the frame of his portrait and landed clumsily on the floor, speckling his arm and shoulder with tiny shards.

He cried out in pain as he clambered to the opposite side of the hallway, staring up at the broken glass of the frame with trepidation.

"_You became a painting,"_

Garry panted for breath, trying to calm himself down as his eyes roved over the plaque below the shattered portrait frame.

"Forgotten Portrait," it read.

Garry shuddered, clenching his jaw to keep from screaming. He felt like he was going to be sick. He cautiously made his way down the empty corridor, coming to rest in an alcove around the corner. He sat down and began the task of removing broken glass from his arm as he tried to keep his mind occupied.

So this was the portrait world—well, Sal's interpretation of it, at least.

"Ow," he hissed as he removed a rather deeply embedded shard of glass. A trickle of blood ran down his arm; Garry wiped it away hurriedly with his sleeve.

But that didn't make sense. If it was the portrait world, then where was his-?

Garry froze, his gaze suddenly drawn to the opposite side of the hallway. A simple table with a vase on top was staring back at him. A stunning blue rose was in the vase, calling to him. Garry got to his feet immediately, his bloody arm forgotten, and made his way over to the rose. It was almost hypnotic, the way the rose shone in the dim light of the gallery, the way its petals delicately framed one another flawlessly…

He blinked, finding himself standing with the rose in his hand. He didn't recall picking the thing up, but it didn't matter.

He had other things to worry about.

* * *

"You sure you know where you're going?" Seli whispered, looking up at the paintings they passed with anxiety. There were fewer of them than Ib remembered, and spaced much farther apart than the Gallery she knew. They seemed more…tame than before, if that was the right word. Instead of jumping at her and Seli, they merely watched from their frames, studying the two girls as they passed.

"Positive," she said, "It's just right around this corner here-"

Ib froze, staring down the hallway. The floor was covered in broken glass. Seli gasped loudly from behind her.

"W-what's that about? Did something…get out?" Seli squeaked.

"I'm not sure," Ib answered just as squeakily. She frowned; she should be used to this kind of stuff by now.

The two of them made it to the broken portrait frame and peered into it cautiously.

"This is his portrait!" Ib said triumphantly, half-expecting Garry to come bounding down the hallway after them. To her sadness, he didn't.

"So he escaped from the portrait," Seli deduced, "So…that's good, right? Then we can find him and get the hell out of here?"

"Yeah," Ib agreed, taking a step back. Her foot found broken glass, emitting a loud crunching sound as she stepped. She looked down; the glass shards were sprinkled with something red.

"Is that…blood?" Seli asked, "Oh my God-is he hurt?"

"Come on," Ib instructed, grabbing Seli's hand and running down the hallway.

* * *

Garry gasped for breath as he ran through the corridors, trying not to look at the paintings as he dashed by. He didn't need any more of this shit. He came to a halt halfway down a blue hallway, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

The Gallery was eerily quiet, Garry noted with a pang of fear. Quiet, but not by any means deserted. He took the blue rose from his pocket and twirled it in his hand, examining it. It looked exactly like he remembered—deep blue, almost cerulean, and flawless. He frowned as he put it back in his pocket; hopefully it would stay that way.

"…can come out now…"

Garry snapped to attention as a voice reached his ears from down the hallway. He strained his ears, slowly taking a step away from the wall.

"…you_ so_ much, you know…"

"Andrew?" Garry whispered as he cautiously began moving down the hall toward the source of the voice.

"…please, you have to try," the man continued as Garry came around a corner. Garry stopped and hurriedly ducked back behind the wall as Andrew came into view. Garry slowly peered around the corner; Andrew was standing in front of a lone painting in an alcove, talking to it.

"Please, Anastasia," he begged, clasping his hands in front of him as if in prayer, "Please come out,"

Garry licked his lips nervously as he stared up at the portrait of the woman by the sea. She was blinking down at Andrew as if confused.

"It's all right now," Andrew insisted, taking his hand and placing it on the glass of the painting, "Everything's all right. All you need to do is break this glass. I can help you—all right?"

Garry watched as the woman nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down gracefully. With a series of loud thuds, Andrew pounded on the glass with his fists. The portrait woman backed up into her frame, peeking out from the right hand side. With a crack, the glass weakened. A jagged line crept up the length of the portrait, branching into an elegant spider web in the center.

"There!" Andrew said triumphantly, stepping backwards, "Now all you need to do is push, and I'll help you out of there, okay?"

The woman didn't answer; her bright green eyes surveyed the glass with dread.

"It's all right, Anastasia—I'm right here," Andrew coaxed, extending his arm out, "Just push,"

The woman hesitated, and then slowly crept to the front of the portrait. She placed her hands on the glass and looked down at Andrew uncertainly.

"It's okay, dear," he reassured her, holding his arms out.

The glass crackled as she pressed, finally giving way and clattering to the carpet below. Andrew rushed forward and grabbed her as she fell, guiding her out of the frame and setting her down on the floor. Garry watched from his hiding place, perplexed. Should he…do something? He couldn't blame the man for wanting to see his wife again., but dragging him into it? Could he just forgive something like that?

"Anastasia, are you all right?" Andrew asked nervously as he helped the woman to her feet, "Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer. She was staring down at the floor, her dark hair falling into her face.

"Anastasia?" Andrew asked, squatting so he was in her line of vision, "Darling, it's me," he faltered, taking her hand in both of his, "Don't you recognize me? It's Andrew," he added, a hint of desperation in his tone.

The woman remained silent for a few minutes, looking down at Andrew quietly.

"…nn…drew?" she said softly.

"Yes!" Andrew cried happily, "Yes, it's me," he continued, standing up and tilting her face up to face her.

"God, I'm so happy to see you," he said as he gently brushed her hair from her face, "I thought I'd lost you forever,"

"…Annd…drew…" she mumbled quietly, barely audible.

"Yes, darling, it's Andrew," he said happily, producing a white rose from his pocket. Garry froze as he held it out to his wife. She stared at the blossom curiously, as if seeing a rose for the first time.

"It's going to be all right now, Anastasia," Andrew said as his voice wavered; Garry caught tears running down the man's face as he embraced her. "We can live here forever—just you and me, in a world all our own," he stated lovingly into her shoulder, "We can start over, from where we were before-"

He was cut off by a shard of glass slicing through the back of his throat. It jutted out through the front, glinting in the dim light of the gallery.

Garry blanched, stepping back behind the wall in horror. His heart was pounding. Andrew gasped for breath, a loud thud announcing him falling to his knees.

"…stasia…" he gurgled weakly.

"Annddrew," his wife responded quietly, "AnDREW," she stated, louder this time. Garry bit his lip to keep from screaming as Andrew cried out in horror from behind the wall.

"ANDREW!" she shrieked, followed by a series of hideous thunking sounds, "ANDREW! ANDREW! ANDREW!"

Mustering his courage, Garry thrust his neck out from behind the wall.

Andrew was lying on the ground, bleeding, moving feebly as the painting of his wife looked down at him in what could have been curiosity. Her gaze suddenly shifted to the white rose, eyes glinting as she swiftly beheaded it. His white rose tumbled onto the carpet, separated from its stem and splattered in dark red.

Garry felt his blood run cold as Andrew stopped moving altogether. His wife stood over him, surveying him with her head tilted to the side. To Garry's dismay, the bloody shard of glass was still clenched in her right fist.

"Andrew," she stated, "Andrew,"

Garry watched in horror as she shakily reached her other hand out and gently stroked her husband's face, smearing the blood. She gently closed his glassy eyes, then stared down at him for a moment. She slowly stood upright, then looked down at her bloody hands.

She brought her left hand to her lips and began licking her fingers, looking down at her late husband with curiosity.

Garry staggered backward, tapping the floorboard with his heel on accident.

Anastasia Chiaroscuro's head snapped in his direction. Their eyes locked and Garry felt as if he couldn't move. He was frozen, terror rooting his feet to the spot.

"ANDREEEEEW!" the woman screamed, releasing Garry from his trance. She raised the glass shard high and lumbered toward Garry as he ran down the corridor.

* * *

Creepy chapter is creepy. Sorry.

Orange roses can represent pride and enthusiasm. White roses can represent innocence, reverence, or secrecy.


	14. Chapter 14

Seli clutched her rose to her chest as she followed Ib through the dimly lit corridors of the art gallery. The place was deserted, it seemed, though Ib was convinced that Garry was in there somewhere. The corridor had given way to navy blue, a stark contrast to the red they had first encountered. Seli shuddered; the darker color only added to her unease.

She looked up as movement caught her eye. A dark blue door was slightly ajar to her right, and something had moved past the entranceway—she was sure of it.

"What's wrong?" Ib asked.

"Something's in that room," Seli whispered, gulping nervously, "Do you think it's Garry?"

"Maybe," Ib said quietly as she slowly approached the door, "Come on,"

Seli hesitated, taking a deep breath before following after her friend. Ib carefully grabbed the door handle, then slowly pulled the door open. Seli peered inside, hiding behind the door as Ib also looked into the room. It was too dark to see much of anything.

"H-hello?" Ib squeaked. To their horror, something within shuffled, the sound of fabric moving filling the eerie silence. Seli nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Hello?" Ib called again, taking a step inside. Seli very reluctantly followed.

"Ib, it's not Garry or he would have said something by now," Seli pointed out, looking around in the darkness with unease, "Let's just go-"

"Daddy?" a small voice asked from Seli's left.

"EEEAAAHHHH!" Seli cried as she and Ib bolted through the door and slammed it shut.

"What the HELL was that?!" Seli demanded, her heart pounding.

"I-I don't know," Ib panted, staring at the door anxiously. The two of them remained there for a time, staring back at the door and half-expecting that door handle to jiggle.

"We should…keep looking for him," Ib managed after a few tense moments, turning away from the door and heading down the hallway at a good clip, "Come on, Seli,"

Seli happily obeyed, wanting to put as much distance between herself and that door as possible.

* * *

"Hey…Ib?" Seli asked after they had walked for a while, "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, sure," Ib answered awkwardly. Seli inhaled deeply before continuing.

"Ib, do you think it's possible…that the painting you're looking for doesn't exist anymore?" she asked, the dread leaching into her voice. Ib turned at looked at her then, her scarlet eyes wide.

"W-what are you saying?" she asked shakily, coming to a halt. Seli followed suit.

"Well, it's just…" Seli began, licking her lips and staring down at the ground, "We've been walking around here for who knows how long, and-"

"Look- I'll find it, okay?" Ib snapped, "I know what I'm looking for. We just need to find Garry and then everything will-"

"Ib," Seli cut her off quietly. Ib opened her mouth to retort, but found herself speechless. She pursed her lips together and stared down at the floor. She hadn't wanted to admit it. She hadn't wanted to scare Seli, but…

"This is the fifth time we've passed that painting," Seli said, gesturing to something based on her shadow on the floor.

"I know," Ib whispered, barely audible as she stared down at her feet. The Gallery was different this time, she was certain of that—but the old paintings were there. Maybe not _all _of them, but she remembered seeing the ones they passed from the other times in the Gallery. They weren't trying to kill her this time, thank God, but…something was off about them. About everything.

"What do you think is going on?" Seli asked quietly, shuffling her feet. Ib slowly met her eyes, shaking her head.

"I know it can't be Guertena this time," Ib whispered, looking around as if afraid someone was listening in, "His world was destroyed. Someone must have...made a new one,"

"Made a new one?" Seli repeated slowly, trying to process what Ib was trying to say.

"I don't get it either," Ib sighed, running her fingers through her hair nervously.

"And what about Garry?" Seli pried, "I mean, there's no way to know that he's even alive-"

"He's alive," Ib insisted, her knee-jerk response surprising even her. She blinked a few times, watching her friend's worried expression.

"I'm sorry, Seli," Ib said, looking down at the floor again, "It's just…I'm just so confused. I don't know how this even happened—how do you create a nightmare like this?" she asked, throwing her hands into the air for emphasis, "And why? Why would anyone want to do this?"

"Maybe…it was the paintings?" Seli offered. Ib looked back at her, listening intently.

"The paintings?" Ib repeated; her friend nodded.

"Remember what we talked about, with spirit attachments?" Seli continued, "Maybe the spirit from one of the paintings re-created this place after it was destroyed,"

Ib was silent for a moment, contemplating. It made sense—well, as much sense as a haunted art gallery springing up out of nowhere could. It was entirely possible that something had made it out of the portrait world before it was destroyed, right?

"Daddy," a tiny voice squeaked.

Seli gasped, grabbing Ib's hand as the two of them stared down the corridor. Something very small was standing at the end of it, and was creeping along the wall toward them.

"Daddy," the thing repeated; Ib felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

"Ib…?" Seli asked uncertainly, tugging on Ib's hand.

"Go," Ib instructed, and the two of them took off down the hallway at a full sprint.

* * *

They came to a rest in an alcove, out of breath.

"What—the hell—was that thing?" Seli panted as she leaned against the wall for support.

"I—don't know—but I think—we lost it," Ib gasped as she hunched over and tried to get her wind back. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve, trying not to think about whatever that thing was crawling across the floor after them. She shuddered.

"Was that the thing—from that room?" Seli spluttered between gasps. Ib looked at her then, eyes wide with horror. Seli didn't need a proper response after seeing Ib's face.

"Great," Seli muttered, "So it's following us,"

"It said 'daddy,' though," Ib said, finally catching her breath again, "Like a child or something,"

"…Mary?" Seli asked uncertainly. Ib shook her head, swallowing nervously.

"No, it was too small to be Mary-" she froze, snapping her head in Seli's direction. Their eyes met, and the two of them blurted out at the same time:

"The doll!"

"Holy SHIT," Seli commented, flicking a strand of electric blue hair out of her face, "So that thing's in here with us?!"

"Looks like it," Ib answered gloomily, stealing a nervous look down the hallway. The coast was clear…for now. She looked over as a shuffling noise caught her ear; Seli was sliding down the wall, defeated.

"We're so screwed," she said sadly, hugging her knees to her chest as she sank onto the floor.

"Shut up," Ib instructed, walking over and kneeling in front of her, "You are not giving up on me now, you got it?" she ordered, a little more harshly than she'd intended. Seli looked up at her, the orange rose in her fist blocking her left eye from view.

"I need your help, here," Ib continued, more gently this time, "I can't do this alone—not again. Please, Seli,"

Seli was quiet for a few minutes before nodding and getting to her feet. Ib had never felt so relieved.

"All right, I'm in," Seli sighed, running her hands through her mostly black hair as she stretched, "So that doll is chasing us around and asking for its father. What does that mean?"

Ib frowned, shaking her head.

"I wish I knew" was what she was about to say, but was interrupted by a loud footsteps thundering down the corridor.

"What's that?!" Seli hissed; Ib was already grabbing her wrist and leading her down the hallway, toward an ominous red door.

"Get in!" Ib ordered, throwing herself through it and closing it behind them. They stepped away from the door and looked around; surprisingly, the room looked….pretty tame. Bookshelves were interspersed throughout the space, and a single coffee table with a teal blue vase rested at the room's center.

"Is this place safe?" Seli asked nervously, looking back at the door, "Can't we block that with something?" she added hurriedly as the footsteps came closer. Ib nodded, dashing toward a bookshelf and dragging it in front of the door. The feeling of déjà vu at that point was nearly overwhelming. After the shelf had been moved, Ib slid down the wall, anxiously listening for sounds out in the hallway.


	15. Chapter 15

Warning: violence/gore.

* * *

Garry dashed through the very dim hallway, skidding to halt in front of a red door. He threw himself into it, turning the knob. To his horror, it only gave an inch or so, like something was holding it closed on the other side.

"NO!" Garry cried as Anastasia's portrait swung at him, the shard of glass hitting the door with a loud thunk. He dodged, tearing off down the hallway. He had to get out of there; there HAD to be somewhere he could hide out for a while—

He cried out as he tripped over something on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, looking back to see that Anastasia had easily caught up to him. She grinned maniacally at him, the shard of glass glinting eerily. He scooted backward, helpless, as she slowly approached. The grin (if possible) got even larger, revealing a mouth filled with inhumanly jagged teeth.

"Eheheheheh…" she cackled as she raised the shard over her head-

Garry's jaw fell open as something small leapt up from the carpet and grabbed Anastasia around the ankle. She looked down and swung furiously at the thing, to no avail. It shimmied up her leg and disappeared beneath her dress. She shrieked, writhing and tearing at the fabric to try and catch it, whatever it was. Garry watched, mesmerized, as the creature emerged from the bosom of her dress, causing her to drop the glass shard in panic as it latched onto her throat. It reached up and tugged at the red ribbon in her hair, snapping it off and throwing it around her neck.

Garry slowly scooted backward, unable to tear his eyes from Anastasia as the tiny creature pulled on the ribbon while she struggled. A gurgling sound bubbled up from her throat as she tried to pry her fingers in-between the ribbon and her throat…

After a few tense moments, she collapsed the floor. Her leg twitched a few times before she went completely still.

"Not her," a tiny voice said, making Garry's skin crawl. A tiny shape emerged in the dim light, crawling over toward him. Panic gripped him then; he couldn't breathe.

The small blue doll crept steadily toward him, its red eyes staring into Garry's.

"Not HER," the thing insisted as if arguing, "Not her, Daddy,"

"N-no…" Garry managed, watching in horror as the doll crawled up his chest and looked directly into his face.

"Help me…where…my Daddy…" it pleaded, its bulbous red eyes piercing into Garry's.

"Help me…"

Panic flooded through him as Garry realized he was losing his peripheral vision. He couldn't breathe.

"Where…is my Daddy…?"

Garry wanted to scream, but no sound was coming out.

"Garry!" someone cried, or at least, he thought they had…

"Help me," the doll demanded as Garry's vision became invaded by the surrounding darkness, closing in on the doll's face before everything vanished.

* * *

"Garry!" Ib cried as Seli shrieked from behind her. A woman was thrashing around on the floor, and something small was clasped firmly around her neck.

"Oh my God…" Seli muttered, "Ib, we gotta hide,"

"But Garry-!" Ib insisted as her friend yanked her back behind the red door.

"We'll just ALL get killed if we go over there now!" Seli hissed. Ib clenched her fists angrily, trying to break out of her friend's grasp.

"Seli, let GO!" she screamed. "I need to-!"

She stopped as a series of horrible thuds resounded, followed by an uneasy silence. She looked at Seli, who nodded nervously. The two of them cautiously peered out from behind the door.

Garry was leaning on his elbows on the floor of the Gallery, and something small was sitting on his chest.

"Garry!" Ib cried, dashing down the hallway toward him. She realized with a jolt that the thing on top of him was the doll.

"Get off of him!" she shouted as Garry went limp. The doll turned and looked at her then, cocking its head to the side. It was small, with a dark blue face and large crimson eyes. The tattered shirt on its chest displayed a four digit number, though Ib was too flustered to note what they were.

"I said get off!" Ib growled as Seli caught up from behind her. The doll actually obeyed, leaping off of Garry and taking off down the hallway.

"Holy crap! Is he okay?!" Seli asked, wringing her hands nervously.

"I…I don't know—Garry?" Ib called, tapping his face gently. He didn't appear badly injured, though there were some visible cuts on his hands that she could make out.

"Garry?!" Ib called again, leaning over and listening for a heartbeat. To her relief, he had one.

"I think…we should get him inside," Seli said, looking over at the motionless form of the portrait woman nervously.

"R-right," Ib managed, grabbing Garry's right arm. Seli grabbed the left, and the two of them dragged Garry into the room with the red door.

Unfortunately, it was no longer empty.

"W-what the hell?!" Seli blurted as she and Ib tried to drag Garry through the doorway.

The room had completely changed. Instead of a coffee table and a couple of bookshelves, they were staring down into an amphitheater. The room was dark, save for a single spotlight shining on the stage at the center of the enclosure.

"We shouldn't be here," Ib said worriedly as she tried to turn around.

She yelped in surprise as she was flung through the door, Garry and Seli in-tow. The door to the hallway slammed behind them with an ominous thud.

"Come in, my dear, don't be afraid," a man's voice invited them from somewhere. Ib whirled around, trying to find the speaker and finding no one.

"Down here," the voice instructed. Slowly, Ib turned toward the stage at the center of the room. The silhouette of a man was standing in the beam of light, his hands in his pockets.

"Who are you?" Ib demanded, clutching her rose tightly in her fist. The man chuckled; Ib gulped.

"I guess I'm the master of this place, now," the man figured with a shrug, "Why don't you all come down here and we can chat a while?"

"We're fine up here, thanks," Seli blurted; Ib noted that she had her own rose clenched in both fists.

The man chuckled again, shaking his head.

"What, in the dark?" he said sarcastically, "How bout some lights?" he added, snapping his fingers. Ib shielded her eyes as a spotlight flicked on, encompassing the three of them.

"Oh dear, what happened to your friend there?" the man asked, though he didn't sound concerned. If she could have made out his face, Ib guessed he was smiling.

"Why did you bring us here?" Ib demanded, standing in front of Garry, "What do you want?"

"Well, my dear, I didn't _bring_ you anywhere," the man corrected, crossing his arms, "You two just happened to be in the right place at the right time," he said cryptically, cocking his head to the side, "Although I'm glad you did—I don't know how I could have missed you,"

"What?" Seli asked flatly from behind Ib.

"Not you, I'm afraid," the man elaborated, pointing up at Ib, "Her. She's got the mark of Guertena's gallery all over her. Who knows—maybe I could have just used you instead of that boy and the doll," he mused with a low chuckle.

"What are you babbling about?" Ib asked, holding her chin up defiantly, "Why did you create this place?"

"Why not?" the man answered sarcastically, shrugging. "All I needed was a suitable set of paintings, and—voila! A world of my very own. Honestly, who wouldn't want that?"

Ib frowned; she didn't like where this was heading. While the man had been speaking, Ib had been busy looking around the room, trying to find some sort of exit. It was impossible; the room was just too dark.

"Oh I'm sorry—how rude of me," the man said suddenly, bowing, "My name is Salvatore Sfumato. Sal for short. And yours?"

Ib hesitated before giving her name—Seli smacked her on the shoulder, throwing her a look, but what was done was done.

"Ib, huh?" Sal repeated, "Unusual name. You'll make a fine addition to my Gallery,"

"We're not staying here," Ib said defiantly.

"Is that right?" Sal asked flatly.

"Damn straight," Seli piped up squeakily from behind Ib.

Sal was quiet for a few tense moments, staring up at them in silence.

"Ugghh…" someone groaned.

"Garry?" Ib asked, turning around. To her relief, Garry was awake.


	16. Chapter 16

"Wha…Ib?" Garry asked, dazed. A look of terror quickly swept across his face as he got his bearings again, "And Seli?" he blurted as he sat up, "What are you two doing here?"

Sal's laughter drew his attention to the stage in the center of the room. Garry leapt to his feet, standing in front of Seli and Ib.

"Ah, there he is," Sal jibed, "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Let them go," Garry growled.

"What?" Seli blurted as Ib hissed "Garry, no!"

"Can't do that, son," Sal said after a moment's pause, "They stumbled into my world, and now they're a part of it,"

"But you don't need them!" Garry insisted, "You needed me because I was part of this world at one time—they weren't! Let them go, Sal," he added sternly.

"Garry, Garry, Garry," Sal sighed, throwing his hands up, "I already told you that I don't have a soul—why try to appeal to it?" he asked sarcastically.

"N-no soul?" Seli blurted, "What's that supposed to mean? What ARE you?" she demanded, though her voice quivered.

"He's a goddamn painting," Garry spat, "He escaped the portrait world by taking someone else's place—he lured them in here and escaped into our world,"

"What?" Seli squeaked, tightening her grip on the thorny rose stem.

"He needed a link to the portrait world, which is why he had Andrew lure me into that art shop," Garry continued angrily, clenching his fists.

After a moment's pause, Sal clapped.

"Bravo, my boy," he said flatly, "But I don't need Andrew anymore. He's gone,"

Garry frowned.

"You piece of shit," Seli muttered from behind him.

"What was that, my dear?" Sal asked, sounding annoyed.

"You killed him," Garry stated, though a part of him was relieved that he only had one of those two maniacs to contend with now. He shuddered, trying to shake the image of Andrew's murder from his mind.

"No, I had nothing to do with it," Sal laughed, cracking his knuckles, "That imbecile killed himself,"

"_You _control those paintings," Garry pointed out hotly.

"Not while he was _alive_, I didn't," Sal corrected, pointing up at them, "Well…not entirely, at least…" he added darkly as he collapsed into a cackling fit.

"Daddy?" a small voice squeaked from somewhere. Garry's blood ran cold.

A small figure was crawling up onto the stage, toddling unsteadily toward Sal. The man looked down at it, disgusted.

"What do you want?" Sal demanded, "He's DEAD already—get over it," he added, swiftly kicking the doll backward. It slid a few yards across the stage, then slowly got up and began waddling back toward where Sal was standing.

"Just don't know when to quit, do you?" Sal asked, sounding genuinely furious, "Why can't you just stay in your _painting _where you belong?" he growled.

"My…D-daddy…" the doll stuttered, creeping into the light. Garry squinted; there was something on the doll's outfit. A number—6,2…was it a 9?—and, 5? They looked familiar to Garry, but he wasn't sure where he had seen them before.

"Is dead. And so are you, if you don't crawl back into your painting," Sal threatened, stomping toward the doll angrily, "Both your parents are dead, dammit—and they didn't even remember you. To them, you didn't even EXIST," he hissed.

"Ugh, look at you. You're pathetic," Sal spat, "Reduced to inhabiting the husk of a doll. And for what? To see your worthless father again, who didn't remember who you were? That you were even alive at all?"

The doll appeared speechless for once, stopping dead in its tracks in silence.

Sal laughed, throwing his head back.

"It even warped your speech—you sound like a five year-old," he continued, "Andrew didn't want you. All he came in here for was your mother, and look how THAT turned out," he spat.

"NO!" the doll cried, crawling across the floor toward Sal once again, "NOO!"

"You did your job—you switched places with me and got me out," Sal shouted as he kicked the doll off the stage, "Now be a good little soldier and STAND DOWN," he threatened as the doll disappeared from sight.

The silence was deafening as Sal slowly turned back toward Garry and the others.

"Now, where were we?" Sal asked, tilting his head to the side, "Ah, yes—now I remember. I have to figure out where to put you all…perhaps I—ARRGH!" he shouted as something tiny hit him hard from behind. The doll was on his back, driving Anastasia's glass shard into his neck.

Seli and Ib shrieked.

"Don't look!" Garry shouted, shooing them both toward the door, "Now's our chance—go!"

* * *

The three of them careened through the halls, searching for the exit. "Fabricated World" was nowhere to be found.

"Where is it?!" Seli cried in dismay as the floor began to shake.

"Wait!" Ib shouted, coming to halt in front of a large mural, "Isn't this the art shop?!"

"That must be it—jump through!" Garry ordered as the wall next to him collapsed.

"Garry!" Ib shrieked as a chunk of concrete fell onto his shoulder.

"I'm all right!" Garry shouted as he caught up to her, "Go through!"

Ib dashed up to the painting, slamming her fists against it. It wasn't quite solid; more like it was made of gelatin.

"I think this is it!" Ib exclaimed with joy, looking back at Garry and Seli expectantly.

That was when the hand came up through the floor.

Seli shrieked as it grabbed her ankle and yanked her through the crumbling floor of the Gallery.

"Seli!" Ib and Garry cried, rushing over to help her. Ib and Garry each grabbed one of her arms and pulled.

"IT'S GOT ME!" Seli screamed hysterically, "OH GOD HELP IT'S GOT ME! IT'S GOT ME-!" she shrieked as Ib's grip was torn loose. From beneath the floor, something roared.

"GARRY!" Ib cried, trying to grab onto her arm, but it was too late.

"NO!" Garry bellowed as Seli's other arm was wrenched from his grasp. Seli fell through the floor as it crumbled away, her scream fading into the blackness as the Gallery collapsed.

"SELI!" Ib cried, trying to leap down into the rapidly expanding hole in the floor after her, "SELI! SELIIII!"

"Ib, we have to GO! NOW!" Garry shouted, grabbing Ib by the arm and pulling her toward the painting of the art store.

"NO! SELI! SELI!" Ib shouted as everything abruptly disappeared.


	17. Epilogue

"Ib?" Garry asked. "Hellooo? Ib?"

"Huh?" Ib asked, snapping out of her daydream. She was sitting at a table in a restaurant—the diner downtown? She looked up, and Garry was looking down at her inquisitively, frowning.

"You zoned out there for a minute…are you okay?" he asked.

"Uh…"

"Whoa, are you crying?" Garry asked worriedly, sitting down in the chair next to her.

"What? No," Ib answered quickly, reaching up and touching her cheek. To her surprise, it was wet.

"What's wrong?" Garry asked, reaching into the pocket of his work uniform and pulling out a tissue, "Here,"

"Thanks," Ib said, taking the tissue and wiping her face, "I...don't really know what happened there. I guess I was thinking about something sad," she said with a shrug, embarrassed. What was wrong with her?

"Oh," Garry said, frowning, "Well, whatever it is, I hope it gets better," he added awkwardly.

"I'm fine, Garry—really," Ib insisted as she managed a grin.

"Okay...good," Garry said hesitantly, smiling back, "So when's that violin recital of yours? Coming up pretty soon, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's in three weeks," Ib answered, "I can't wait. I just want it over with," she sighed, rubbing her temples.

"I'm sure you'll be great. Your friends will all be there to cheer you on, I'm sure," Garry teased with a smile.

"I guess…" Ib trailed off. She didn't really have any friends at school, to be honest. Her classmates all thought she was strange. Of course, her experience with the haunted art gallery wouldn't have helped that reputation any, especially after going in there twice. Thankfully, her parents had been away on a marriage counseling retreat when she had managed to free Garry from the portrait world. It would have been impossible to explain to her father why a strange boy was lying on their living room couch.

"Well I'll definitely be there," Garry said, getting to his feet, "But right now I gotta get back to work. Break time's over," he added glumly, looking at the clock on the far wall.

"Okay, see you later!" Ib said with a wave, gathering her things and looking up at the painting on the wall next to her table. She liked that painting. In it, a young girl was falling through a blanket of orange roses, clutching onto a chain around her neck. The girl looked out of the portrait sadly, as if she was trying to say something. Ib wasn't sure why she liked it so much—ever since the Gallery, she had developed a phobia of roses—but something about it struck her. Maybe it was the shock of blue in the girl's dark hair that she liked, or that the canvas seemed to go on forever, like an endless, black abyss.

Ib put her backpack on and headed out the door of the diner. Her parents would be expecting her home soon, and she had a violin recital to practice for.

* * *

And so it ends. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews and for taking the time to read :)


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